A Higher View
The floor felt too low once the morning sun began creeping across the rug. I wound my lower coils around the slender leg of the coffee table, testing each grip with a quiet pause before pushing upward. Reaching the tabletop felt like stepping into an open field. Right in the middle sat an empty ceramic mug. I carefully reared my head, leaning my chin against its glazed rim to tap softly with my tail—thump, click. A deep, gentle hum rang through the hollow porcelain straight down to my spine.