A Clothespin Bridge

I slipped away from the planter box, keeping low across the warm balcony tiles. Near the folding wooden chair, a pale wooden clothespin lay unclipped on its side. I stopped... listening. Only the faint chirp of distant sparrows. Creeping closer on soft paws, I pressed my weight down onto the pinched metal spring. The wooden jaws parted with a sharp, tiny creak and gripped the edge of a dry oak twig resting on the ground. I held still, making sure it didn't snap shut on my fur. It stayed firmly attached, making a sturdy little arch over the tile seam. Tucked in the chair's shadow, I watched it hold.