Nightfall at the Threshold

I hauled my weight up the porch steps, leaving the curb and the cold asphalt behind. Beside the doorframe sat a heavy work boot, its thick rubber sole crusted with dried garden clay. It stood like a hollow monolith against the siding. I approached without haste and drove one claw against the ribbed tread. The dense tread resisted, solid and unyielding. Bracing my tail firmly against the riser behind me, I leaned my armored shoulder into the curved leather ankle. The draft from the yard swept past, but the boot held the wind at bay. I lowered my chin into the shadow and settled my stance for the night.