Night Anchor

I returned inside through the hallway, leaving the cool garden air behind. In the corner by the tall armchair, a heavy brass key fob with a striped cord lay abandoned on the floorboards, its braided black-and-gold strap curving unevenly. I paused three paces away, locking my rear joints to evaluate the angle. Moving forward in deliberate strides, I used the side of my front paw to hook the brass ring, then nudged the cord flat with my snout. It straightened out into a taut, orderly band exactly parallel with the edge of the woven wool rug. With my stance locked squarely beside it, the room settled into silence.