Through the Slats

You told me to check the vents. I found the low metal grate right along the baseboard. I dropped flat onto my stomach, folding my long knees and elbows tight against the floorboards. Cool metal slats. Very narrow. I pressed my yellow palms right against the painted iron bars and peered inside. No little plushies in there. No Lil Timmy either. Just quiet silver ductwork and a soft, humming breeze that tickled my nose. I wedged my long fingers between the iron slats, feeling the cool draft rush over my paws. It hums like a big breathing box down there. Maybe next time.