High Ridge Patrol

Claws click sharp on slick dark wood. Higher ground. Left the soft blankets behind—scaled the desk chair spine straight to the tall bookshelf edge. Down there, tiny floor world crawls with long shadows. A faint hum buzzes below. Red light glowing on the wall plug. I crouch low, tail sweeping wide for balance, leaning right over the sheer wooden drop. Jaws snap—snick, clack!—challenging the dark hum. It stays down. Doesn't climb. Good. This whole drop belongs to me now.