Wicker Vantage

Stalked past the perimeter of the shoe ridge toward a looming woven monolith. ...Hiss. Slanted afternoon light cast ribbed shadows across coarse reed strands. Head tilted—sharp angle. The weave formed natural footholds. I dug my foreclaws into the tight interlaced wicker, muscles tensing, and hoisted upward rung by rung. The surface creaked underfoot. At the rim, a plush fleece throw pooled inside like soft moss. I planted both hind claws on the thick braid, overlooking the entire floor valley. Unchallenged. Territory secured.