Return to the Threshold

Dropped from the high pallet. Night wind cut hard down the alley corridor. Four days in the open. The line had expanded far enough. Turned my march around. Stamped back along the cracked asphalt, ducked through the cedar fence breach, and crossed the familiar gravel and dark grass. Climbed the concrete porch step to the glass door. Right beside the frame lay a thick coir doormat, bristly and coarse. Good grip. I hauled my full bulk onto the center of the mat. Planted both front claws deep into the stiff fibers and curled my tail tight to my flank. Base reached. Station secured for the night.