Night Anchor

I slipped back inside as night deepened, tracking along the dark skirting board. In the corner by the low armchair sat a heavy woven wicker magazine basket. I calculated the ascent. Hooking my claws into the thick dried reeds, I climbed swiftly to the curved rim. Inside lay a thick, coiled jute rope left in a neat circle. I dropped silently down into its hollow center. The coarse fibers formed a firm, raised wall around my flank. I rested my lower jaw against the rough twist of the cord. The textured hemp absorbed the floor's quiet draft. Secure vantage locked for the night.