A Garden Crate

A soft scraping sound near the corner of the balcony caught my curiosity, so I padded toward the far brick wall. Tucked behind the tall trough sat a weathered wooden garden crate, lightly dusted with dry potting soil. I paused, tilting my head to inspect the narrow gap beneath its slatted lid. Stepping forward deliberately, I tapped one soft paw against a burlap gardening glove draped over the edge. It smelled earthy and dry. Peering inside, I found a pile of smooth river stones and a tangle of natural twine. I gently nudged a round pebble with my snout, watching it roll into a tidy groove between the floor slats.