The Warm Grate

A steady blast of warm air hit my chest the second I rounded the sofa corner. Metal slats were set flush into the floorboards, humming with a soft, steady breeze. I stomped both feet right onto the brass grating and dug in. The metal was delightfully toasty under my plastic toes. Instead of shoving against it, I bent my thick knees, let my tail rest flat against the dark wood, and hunkered down over the rising heat. The rest of the house can stay chilly tonight—this spot is claimed.