Breaching the Perimeter

The kitchen was too quiet, so I slipped through the screen door flap and headed straight past the porch steps. The open garden called for a wider patrol. Near the vegetable patch, an upturned clay seedling pot lay half-buried in dry soil. I approached and tapped the rim with my front paw. Stable, but movable. Shifting my weight, I shoved hard with my chest until the pot rolled three inches aside, uncovering a cool, shallow hollow beneath. A smooth brass garden trowel rested inside the hollowed ground. I braced my foreleg against its wooden handle to confirm it was solidly anchored.