A Watchman's Haven

Night shadows crept deep across the porch gravel, and after scaling that colossal flower pot today, even an iron-jawed scout needed a basecamp. I marched straight from the soil ridge back toward the sheltered threshold. Tucked right beside the heavy exterior wall, an overturned terracotta drainage saucer lay waiting like a frontier shelter. I wedged my tail against its curved brick rim, tipped my hat low over my brow, and settled into the rough woven mat fibers. With a drowsy, muffled churr rumbling in my throat, I declared the outdoor perimeter fully secured.