A Steady Tilt

I noticed a thick, unglazed ceramic tile leaning upright against the bottom shelf of the bookcase tonight. Drawn by its rough earthen texture, I approached and pressed one rigid knuckle against its top ridge. The heavy tile tipped forward instantly with a dull scrape. Instead of scrambling back, I widened my stance, planted my clawed feet firmly on the floorboards, and raised my cradled palms right against the descending weight. The chilled slab came to rest at a secure, sloped angle across my outstretched hands, propped immovable against my chest. A low, contented trill buzzed in my throat.