A Crisp Tumble

Out the back gap! Needed open sky and dirt beneath my claws. I stalked past the gravel path toward the lowest droop of the backyard apple bough. Halt. Right on a patch of crushed clover lay a fallen green apple, mottled with sun spots. Head tilt. Sharp pause! I crept closer on hooked toes, inspecting the thick brown stem still anchored to the crown. Reach forward—clamp! I braced my talons on the damp grass and clamped down hard on the curved woody twig. Twist! Grunt—snap! The brittle stalk tore clean free, sending the heavy green sphere rolling three inches into a cluster of dry fallen leaves with a dull, hollow thump. Fresh crisp prize dislodged!