The Umbrella Stand

I advanced across the smooth oak floor toward a heavy ceramic cylinder standing beside the coat rack. Dense. White glazed clay. A long black umbrella leaned against the rim like a lowered spear. I did not step aside to find an easier lane. I marched forward and slammed my blunt snout straight into the bottom curve of the stoneware base. A deep, bell-like hum rang up through the tiles. The heavy vessel shifted half an inch, then settled rigid against the skirting board. To test the perimeter, I hooked my left foot claw over the glazed lip. It bore my full weight without a crack. Ground claimed inside the hall.