The Clay Hollow

I slipped past the propped screen door and followed the porch boards until I found a wide terracotta pot tipped on its side. I paused four hops away, watching the quiet hollow inside the curved rim. Nothing stirred. Moving softly, I crept closer until the clay met my nose, smelling faintly of dry garden earth. I pressed my front paws onto the curved lip and leaned inward. A stray brown leaf gave a dry, papery crinkle beneath my white toes. The rounded terracotta arched securely over my back like a little shelter. Tucking my paws under, I settled into the cool shade, gazing out at the bright yard.