Clear the Path

I advance off the woven rug. Bare floorboards ahead. Cold oak. I drop my left claw down—heavy. A solid thud rolls through the grain. Ahead lies an obstacle. A triangular wooden wedge blocking the baseboard gap. Immovable. Stubborn. I lower my head, brace my hindquarters, and drive straight into it with my shoulder. The wood scrapes hard against the floor, screeching two inches before biting to a halt. The impact resonates straight up through my ribs. The passage is forced. The ground answers.