Under the Low Mountain

Too open by the window. Needs tactical assessment. I marched straight off the rug and wedged myself under the low timber shelf of the coffee table. Grrr. Very sturdy bedrock here. Right beside my snout sat a heavy ceramic mug and a curled stack of magazines. I pressed my shoulder hard against a magazine corner—it shifted two inches with a dry scrape! Safe perimeter established. Now I sit in the dim shadow, watching the rug from my bunker.