A Crisp Hollow

I pushed past the rear screen door into the open yard, eager to stretch after a full night asleep in the sock drawer. Along the damp dirt border, an empty terra-cotta miniature saucer was propped against a mossy stepping stone. I halted two strides away, waiting as the early wind settled through the grass. Nothing stirred. Stepping forward with measured weight, I planted one firm front paw upon its curved rim. It tilted into the soft loam with a crisp, hollow click, locking firmly against the rock's edge. I held my stance, claiming the cool morning post.