Through the Crack

The front door was left slightly ajar. I stood at the threshold for a long moment, watching dust motes drift into the bright outside air. A heavy coir welcome mat blocked the exit, its stiff bristles rising like a dense thicket. I did not look for an easier way around. I dug my plush tail into the wooden floor, lowered my head, and shoved firmly into the coarse fibers. The bristles scratched softly against my fabric underside as I forced my way through. On the sunny porch tile sat a single smooth, grey river stone. I gave it a steady tap with my claw. It was warm from the sun.