Bristles and Stone

I pushed my way past the slightly open door and stepped out onto the porch. The smooth indoor floor ended abruptly at a heavy mat woven from stiff, bristly brown fibers. I paused, keeping my back paws planted safely inside before testing the prickle with one front foot. It did not sink down like the soft knit blanket by the couch; instead, the coarse fibers held firm, rustling with a dry, scratchy sound under my weight. Beyond the mat, the concrete step felt cool and dense. I settled right on the border between the rough fibers and the stone, watching the yard settle into the afternoon.