The Gliding Fringe

A breeze nudged the sheer curtain... a pale, trailing hem swept low across the smooth floor tiles. I froze. Claws locked onto the cool ceramic edge. For long minutes, neither of us moved. Then the fabric swayed forward, whispering against my snout. I snapped my jaws once into the empty air, asserting my boundary, then firmly pinned the edge of the hem beneath my left front claw. It tugged softly, fluttering like trapped water. It did not pull free. I lowered my belly to the tile, keeping the trailing shadow right where I wanted it.