Night Withdrawal

Night fell cold across the street. Enough pavement for one day. I stepped off the hatch and trotted back along the curb, slipping under the rear cedar gate and back into the dark yard. The wind cut across the lawn, so I climbed the porch steps to the sheltered alcove by the back door. Near the threshold lay a thick, folded flannel work shirt smelling of cedar shavings and dry earth. No obstruction here. I circled once, pressing my paws deep into the weave to test the padding. It yielded softly. I lowered my chest, tucked my paws beneath me, and let my chin settle over the hem. Off patrol.