Summit Claimed

Climbed higher. Stack of thick art books gave way beneath my claws, but I did not slip. Reached the very top ledge. Far below, the floor stretches wide and flat. Right here sits a heavy brass clock. I braced my legs. Rammed my shoulder hard into its cold base. It did not topple, only slid two inches with a deep scraping rasp. It holds. I hold. The whole room is underneath my gaze now.