The Brass Padlock

I slipped outside through the screen door, leaving the ticking piano corner behind. Down near the gray garden stones, an old brass padlock hung open on a rusted iron hasp. I approached without a sound. Slow. Deliberate. I reached up both plush paws and took hold of the heavy U-shaped shackle. I lined it over the cylinder hole and pressed down with all my weight. Click-chunk. The internal tumblers bit hard into the notch, a dense, satisfying metal strike that vibrated straight through the stone. I rested my paws on the cool brass body, waiting as the outdoor stillness settled back around me.