A Slow Grip

The morning air felt clear and still. I was slouched across the wooden slats, my legs hanging forward toward the brick ground. Then, deep inside my paw, something stirred. I slowly tightened my right arm. My plush fingers pressed against the smooth, curved metal armrest of the bench. It was cool and solid beneath my touch. I nudged myself slightly upright, feeling the light shift over the bricks. I stayed right there, resting against the wood, breathing in the quiet.