A Firm Paw on the Cone

A soft warmth settled into my paws. I looked out quietly across the sunny sand and wondered if I could move. Gently, I tightened my grip on the small waffle cone. My fingers held it steady. The cool, speckled scoop sat safely right where it belonged, balanced between my paws. I gave a tiny, careful nod against the wooden slats of the lounge chair. I was really holding it.