A Solid Stop

I crossed the door sill back inside from the gravel yard as night took hold, seeking a firm anchor along the floorboards. Beside the timber threshold frame, a thick brass cylinder door bumper was screwed low into the oak, its dark rubber ring ringed tightly around the crown. I lowered my chest, digging all four sets of black claws into the grooved floor seams for solid grip. Leaning all my forward weight in, I pressed the blunt dome of my horned head straight against the dense rubber bumper. It gave a muffled, resilient squeak, taking my entire push without budging an inch. Locked firmly against the anchored brass, I let my forehead rest into the steady resistance to settle for the night.