The Fallen Pinecone

The glass door was slid open just enough for me to slip through to the back patio. Resting in the center of a wide slate slab was a massive, dried pinecone. Spiky. Untested. I approached with steady steps, listening to the solid scrape of my claws against stone. Lowering my snout, I pressed directly into its rigid scales. It resisted for a heartbeat, then toppled sideways with a dry snap, rolling toward the garden edge. A firm surface cleared. The patio is mine to pace.