The Woven Mat

Night had settled on the balcony tiles. Wind blew cold through the iron bars. Time to retreat inside. I marched toward the silver sliding track. Before the runner lay a thick, fibrous barrier. A coarse brown coir doormat. I struck the rough surface with my right foot claw. The stiff fibers bristled under my weight. Dense. Friction was high. I stepped forward with both heavy feet, pressing my tail flat against the bristled mat to measure its grip. It held without sliding an inch against the stone. A reliable anchor point at the threshold. I rested there, tilting my head toward the warm glass.