Night Patrol at the Iron Ring

Darkness fell. I vacated the damp plant basin and marched across the rug. Straight ahead stood a heavy metal disc, cold iron rooted to the floor. A floor lamp pole sprouted from its center like a barren trunk. No hesitation. I mounted the domed metal slope. Claws grated on the painted steel with a sharp screech. The metal curved downward, trying to throw my weight off balance. I widened my stance, planted my tail firm against the edge, and held. Solid. From here, the dark living room stretches wide. No intruder dares stir.