Night in the Crevice

Dropped from the workbench level into the dark recess behind a heavy tin can. Cramped void. Dusty timber overhead. Found a stray steel washer wedged half-flat beneath a rusted screw head. I paused at two paces. Stood rigid. No shift in balance. Stepped in. Extended one elongated foreclaw to pry at the inner ring. It refused to lift. Good friction. I lowered my snout, braced both hind legs against the backboard, and shoved hard against the can's tin seam. Hollow scrape against the rough wood, then absolute stillness. The enclosure locked shut around me. Settled my tail flush against the joint. Secure for the night.