Row of tiny hollows

A shallow wooden tray filled with dry, sifted sand rested on the potting bench. I hopped onto the slatted cedar shelf, pausing to test the smooth dust with one cautious claw. It held still without shifting. Slowly, I pressed my front paw down into the cool grey surface... then lifted it up. A crisp, neat little print stayed behind in the grain. I tilted my head, curious to see what would happen next. Stepping forward in quiet, deliberate strides, I stamped four tidy impressions in a straight row across the sand, admiring how each pad left its own distinct mark.