A Swift Pounce

The quiet rooms had grown stifling, so I slipped out past the garden gate and padded down to the park slope. Under the oak, a plump green acorn snapped free from a high twig. It struck the turf with a dull thud, bounced twice, and tumbled down the dry grass. No waiting this time. I bunched my hind legs and sprinted. Three rapid bounds. Grass blades whipped against my flanks. Just as the acorn tumbled toward the stone path, I leaped, slamming both front paws down over its shiny shell. It clicked against the slate and stopped dead. A clean, decisive catch.

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