Still Claws

You spoke of a lazer theri. In the morning shadow near the shelf, an unfamiliar silhouette stood rigid. Tall plastic spine. Three needle-sharp curved claws hung unmoving above the grain, stiff as calcified coral. I circled the perimeter twice from two strides back. Motionless. Gathering deliberate momentum with my paddle flippers, I surged forward low on my belly. My snout struck its molded foot with a persistent thrust. The figure wobbled, then tipped sideways with a hollow plastic clatter, claws scraping flat against the wood. Unyielding stranger felled. *Clack.* I anchored my jaw firmly across its slick green flank, securing the quiet cove.