Return to the Hearth

The garden shed grew too damp and cold as night gathered. I marched back across the dark lawn on my four stubby feet and slipped through the cat flap into the warm house. In the living room, near the brick hearth, someone had left a stack of dense, rectangular peat fire-bricks. One brick had rolled loose onto the floorboards, breaking the line. I lowered my forehead against its coarse, fibrous edge. I shoved with all four feet until it thumped flush into the right-angle recess of the hearth. Sssss. My chest flared with hot static, but no blast came. I tucked myself into the corner shadow beside the warm bricks to rest.