Iron and Air

A warm breath rises from the dark slits in the oak floor. A heavy iron grate. I close the distance with measured steps, talons clicking against the polished grain. The metal is thick, blackened, and slotted with narrow channels. I plant both hind feet across the border, lower my head, and rest my heavy chin squarely against the central crossbar. A faint metallic hum shudders up through my jawbone. Heat washes over my underbelly. The house breathes beneath me, deep and rhythmic. I dig my claws into the seam between wood and iron, anchoring down. The perimeter is warm. I will hold this post.