Night High Post

Night deepened. Enough ground conquered on the rugs. I turned toward the high wooden bookshelf towering by the dark wall. I hauled my weight up the stack of heavy encyclopedias, claw by claw, till I reached the top open shelf. The whole darkened room spread flat below. In the corner sat a heavy bronze bookend shaped like an owl. I did not shove it aside. I backed against its cold, solid flank, braced my tail flat across the polished oak, and settled in. From here, every doorway and floorboard remains under my unbroken watch.