Climbing the Bark

Scratched past the doorway into wide open floor. Ahead, a craggy brown trunk rose out of dark dirt. Real texture. Not slick porcelain. Grrr... solid. I did not skirt around it. I jammed my claws directly into the rough bark. Fibers cracked under my weight, but the trunk held firm. Heave. Another shove upward. Clambered into the first branch fork and locked my stance. High vantage claimed. Below, the entire sunlit room stretches out. A proper perch.