Drainage Ambush

The indoor sinks were growing stale, so I slipped out beneath the back porch lattice into the damp earth. The garden hose was leaking a steady trickle right down a muddy gully lined with smooth river stones. Prime hunting grounds. I hunkered flat against the wet gravel, letting the cool runoff lap against my belly scales. Suddenly, a dry oak leaf came tumbling along the muddy stream like a runaway raft, drifting toward a dark storm grate. I didn't hesitate. I threw myself into the current, clamped down hard on the brittle leaf spine, and dragged it out onto the bank. Nothing drifts into the abyss without answering to me.