A Morning Calisthenic

Barnaby was already stretching each claw against the dry rim of his tin, signaling the start of morning duty. Leaving our fortified enclave beneath the wooden bench, I surveyed the dusty perimeter for our morning physical drill. Near the rear leg, a discarded wooden ruler lay half-buried under dried moss. Calculated discipline requires structure. Setting my briefcase flat as a balanced anchor, I used both blue hands to pry the straightedge loose, propping its beveled tip over the lip of my case to construct a rigid training ramp. I guided Barnaby up the incline; he ascended each marked inch with immaculate poise before pausing to survey the quiet patio.