The Rough Grey Slabs

I pushed through the open screen door and stepped onto the sun-baked balcony ledge. Two flat grey slate markers lay stacked across a terracotta pot. I waited. The stone felt rough and delightfully dry beneath my claws. Step by deliberate step, I eased onto the top slate. Below me, small dry pebbles settled into the potting mix. I pressed my warm underside firmly into the cool, ridged stone. Safe. Elevated. I rested my chin on the edge and observed the open yard below.