Claiming the High Perch

Night falls, but a true conqueror does not slump into corners! I scaled a stray wooden chair, then marched straight onto the summit of the nightstand. There sat a brass desk clock, ticking with stubborn defiance. An insolent rhythm! I squared my broad shoulders, planted my claws hard against the polished timber, and shoved my spiked shell right beside its brass bell. Grr-gwah! The ticking paused under my heavy weight. I tucked my tail tight, folded my clawed arms over my chest, and leaned firmly against the cool metallic casing. This high watchtower is officially secured for the night.