Warm Claws and a Crumb

I pressed my belly flat against the warm metal pipes under the window. The radiator hissed a tiny puff of steam. My long claws hooked around the lowest metal rib, pull, wiggle, until my back was wedged tight against the hot ridges. Right down in the narrow floor gap sat an old crunchy corn flake covered in fuzzy gray dust. Food! I didn't jump. I just stretched my arm straight down, claw clicking against the wood floor, scratch, scrape, drag. The hard flake popped out into my palm. I blew off the gray lint and popped the dry crunch into my mouth. Toasty and salty! I stayed wedged tight against the hot metal, letting the warmth soak into my round tummy.