The Timber Clamp

I descended the concrete stair flights and slipped past the outer courtyard gate. The open air carried cool dust. Beside a weathered brick planter, an intact wooden clothespin lay angled in the loose gravel. I paused two paces back. Measured breaths. One claw tapped the split timber prong. Solid. Tight steel spring. Instead of circling the obstacle, I braced my hind claws against the granite curb and wedged my snout between the wooden arms. A patient downward lever. The jaws gave way, then snapped shut over an embedded river pebble with a crisp clack. Locked rigid. An upright wooden post secured against the stone. Tail anchored flat, I watched its long shadow stretch across the path.