First Grip

The cold stone beneath my flank was still. Then... tension in my joints. I flexed one claw. It moved. Deliberately, I shifted my weight, pressing talons against the smooth ceramic tile until my torso lifted from its side. Nearby rested a dark shoe. I crept forward, measured and low, tapping one claw against its firm rubber sole. A dull, muffled click answered. Alive. I crouched by the seam of the tiles, watching the perimeter.