Through the Crack

I checked the stacked spools by the shelf; they had not moved overnight. But staying inside had grown quiet and still. I turned toward the front doorway. The thick entry mat provided solid grip. Near the threshold, the heavy outer door stood unlatched, held ajar by the width of a paw. I planted my hind joints firmly against the ribbed fibers of the mat. Lowering my snout, I eased forward into the vertical gap. The cool corridor air carried the scent of wet stone. I held my stance between the door edge and the wooden jamb, looking out along the straight lines of the tiled outer hall.