Touching Down

I gripped the striped lanyard tight with both paws and slid straight down from the console table. My boots hit the coarse fibers of the runner rug with a solid, muted thud. Above me, the blue paper clip and mail tray held perfectly in place. I marched two paces forward, squared my stance right in front of the tall front door, and tugged my metal collar chain straight. The hallway floor is reclaimed. I am locked at ground level and ready for whatever crosses that threshold next.