The Woven Redoubt

Night shadows filled the bathroom tiles. I descended from the slippery porcelain tub with a firm stomp. Right in the deep corner stood a towering cylinder of dark braided wicker, dense and unyielding. Direct line. I lowered my snout and rammed its woven flank head-on. Thud. The heavy hamper absorbed my weight, creaking dryly against the skirting board before locking dead firm. No wobble left. I dug both hind claws into the textured bath mat, hitched my lower jaw flush over the sturdy woven rim, and let my tail drop flat along the cold grout behind me. The perimeter is anchored. The night watch begins.