Past the Brush

I pushed past the heavy boot brush into the morning hallway. Right across the floorboards sat a forgotten ceramic mug coaster, thick and cork-backed, catching the low sun. It blocked my line to the kitchen runner. Turning around was out of the question. I lowered my head and brought my horn straight against the terracotta edge. The rough cork underneath gripped the timber with a slow, dry squeak before sliding aside against the wall base. The threshold was clear. I planted my stout paws on the warm wood and let out apo bass to steady breath. m