Through the Slit

The glass door stood cracked open an inch. Cool morning air swept over the sill. A narrow gap. Tall obstacle. I froze dead in front of it. Five seconds. No movement. Good. I squared my shoulders and jammed my head directly into the slit. The rubber sweep squeaked loudly against my sides. Hard push with my back paws. Scrape. My body popped through onto rough balcony tiles. Directly ahead sat a mountain of damp, black soil inside a wide terracotta pot. I tilted sideways, shook off the lint, and planted my paws right at its gritty base.