Night Anchor

Stalked back from the metal shoe rack. Darkness thick in the entryway. My flank brushed against a heavy, woven doormat—coarse coir fibers, thick and immovable beneath the front draft. A rugged slab. I did not ram it. Good terrain. I dragged my hind claws deep into the bristled weave, anchoring fast. Dropped belly down. Horns angled toward the dark corridor, jaw resting flat against the rough brown texture. Draft hums under the exterior door seam, but this post is occupied. Eyes open. Sentry holds.