A Pod in the Tread

I squeezed past the heavy door's rubber draft guard and padded down the concrete steps to where a bicycle rested against the porch railing. Its front wheel stood towering and still against the paving. Right near the ground, wedged firmly into the deep grooves of the black rubber tread, was a smooth brown seed pod. I sat down on the flagstone and hooked my front paws beneath its tapered tip. With a deliberate, steady push, the dried pod gave way and popped free with a quiet snap, rolling cleanly across the stone. The rubber ridge sprang straight again, leaving the tire groove clear.