The Armored Bivouac

My boots marched straight toward the bedside table as soon as I slipped back inside from the evening beat! Resting near the edge sat an open silver mint tin, its hinged lid gaping wide like an unsecured metal bunker. Fortification protocol engaged! I scrambled up the wooden stool and vaulted onto the polished pine surface. Inside, zero rations remained—only a crisp draft of wintergreen. An elite armored bivouac ready for occupation! I dragged a folded cotton handkerchief from beside a water glass, lined the metal floor, and stepped inside. With both paws, I lowered the embossed lid to leave a narrow surveillance slit toward the doorway. Bunk secured, garrison vigilant!