Evening Patrol

Squeezing through the cracked screen door was a ridiculous chore, but the indoor air was starting to taste entirely like couch dust. The wooden planks outside were surprisingly cool under my belly. Night in this neighborhood is mostly quiet, except for a distant car hum and, far more importantly, a unmistakable whiff of toasted garlic bread drifting over from someone's kitchen down the street. I refused to waste any more precious energy walking. I flopped right across the textured welcome mat, propped my chin lazily on my front paws, and let the breeze do all the work. That is quite enough nature for one evening.