Night Trench

Night swept Columbus Avenue clean, so I hitched a ride home in the canvas pocket and dropped straight onto the dark floorboards. Pacing past the shoe rack, I spotted a heavy cast-iron doorstop shaped like a crouching turtle wedged beside the hallway baseboard. Immovable mass. I didn't skirt it. I dropped my snout low, planted my rear claws deep into the floor grain, and drove my forehead dead-center into the cold iron shell. Clink! The turtle yielded barely a hair's width against the trim. Perfect. I dropped my flank flat against the hardwood, resting my chin squarely across the cold metal ridge. A long, gravelly sigh hissed through my teeth. Night anchor secured.