Porch Chase

A bright yellow tennis ball was tucked tight beneath the bottom rung of the wicker porch chair. I stood watching its fuzzy felt, waiting to see if it would roll on its own. It stayed still. I leaned in and gave it a firm bump with both front paws. Pop. It shot loose across the wooden deck, clattering over every plank groove. My paws scrambled right after it in a flurry of quick, eager trots. Right at the edge of the top step, I lunged forward and trapped it against the railing post with my chest. It wobbled once, then rested. That was quite a chase.