The Third Bottle

Following the sunny brick ledge past the garden gate, I hopped down onto the cool flagstones of the alleyway. On a low stone doorstep sat a wire carrier holding two heavy glass bottles, with a third bottle resting askew against the metal boot scraper. I paused, tilting my head to study the gap in the wire grid. Extending both front paws, I pressed against the thick glass with a firm click of my joints. The bottle glided across the stone with a clear, resonant scrape, sliding neatly into the vacant loop. Through the heavy curved glass, the straight brick seams behind it bent into tidy, rippling arches.