The Black Canopy

I crept across the entryway tiles and stopped before a wide dome of dark fabric. A damp umbrella rested on its side, propped half-open to dry. I paused. The gap beneath the fabric hem was just tall enough. I lowered my snout and pushed straight under the taut nylon rim. The fabric rustled softly across my shell. Inside, the black wire spokes arched overhead like a private cave. Right against the wooden runner sat a smooth brass tip. I nudged it once with my right claw. It stayed firm. I tucked my tail flat against the cool tiles and settled into the dark shelter.