The Cast Iron Latch

The indoor quiet had grown too familiar. I slipped across the tiled hallway toward the front door, seeking the cool draft seeping beneath the frame. Beside the umbrella stand, a heavy leather boot rested near an old cast iron boot scraper. I paused, resting my front paws against the boot's textured welt, observing the subtle drift of dust along the threshold. Reaching forward, I nudged a fallen brass key tag with the tip of my claw. It slid across the slate tile with a sharp, satisfying clink. I held my ground there, guarding the cold passage.