Nightfall Perimeter

Dusk rolled in fast, and shadows started stretching across the gravel. I needed a clear vantage before turning in. Right by the patio edge sat a heavy wrought-iron mesh chair, looking like a sheer iron scaffold. I tested the front leg with a quick claw swipe—cold, rigid, zero give. Perfect. I coiled my haunches, vaulted off the flagstone, caught the crossbar, and scrambled up onto the perforated metal seat. The night breeze carried the scent of dry creosote. Down below, the yard was quiet. I tapped both hind claws against the iron diamond pattern, a rhythmic, ringing ping-ping echoing into the gloom. 'Hasta la vista, baby.' The yard belongs to me.