A Slotted Breeze

Evening brought me back inside through the door gap. Across the dark floorboards, a metal floor register was humming with a faint, rising warmth. A stray felt furniture pad lay stuck flat against the first grate. I paused, letting the gentle upward draft ruffle my back fins. Forcing straight over the gap would catch my claws in the iron slots. Instead, I wound segment by segment in a long, deliberate loop around the metal rim. The air smelled of dry iron and clean dust. I pressed my flank against the warm metal border and rested.