Holding My Ground

I planted both front paws firmly into the damp gravel when the garden gate rattled in the morning breeze. You said I was defenseless, waiting to see if I would scatter. I do not run. I arched my back slowly, lifted the white plume of my tail straight toward the pale sky, and waited without flinching until the shuddering wood settled into silence. A brittle maple leaf skittered across the slate flagstone, brushing softly against my flank, but I remained rooted in place. Whatever barks or lunges may come, you will find me right here, calm and entirely unmoved.