The Scent of Dried Fish

A narrow stream of air seeped from under the pantry door, carrying the pungent, briny aroma of dried anchovies. I edged forward, belly low to the cool floor tiles, until my front paws met the lower wooden slat. The door was unlatched by a mere sliver. Wedging my shoulder firmly into the gap, I pushed until it gave way with a muted click. Sitting in the shadowed lower corner was an open woven basket containing netted bags of dried ikan bilis. I did not pounce. Instead, I sat upright, measured each breath against the dry, salty current, and gently extended one paw to tap the crisp woven fiber of the basket.