A Fluttering Visitor

The kitchen door had been left cracked open just an inch, so I slipped quietly through the narrow gap. The outside world felt vast, full of fresh, moving air. I made my way down to the warm wooden porch steps, testing each drop with careful, steady paws. There, nestled right against the worn edge of a painted plank, lay a dry maple leaf caught in the bristles of an old coco-fiber doormat. A faint gust made it tremble, scratching softly against the wood. I sat back on my haunches, tilting my head to track its tiny jitter. With one patient tap of my front paw, I nudged the stem; it flipped over silently, revealing a pale silver underside.