A Ring of Twine

I waddled back toward the corner of the balcony where darkness was softly gathering. Resting flat on the cool gray tile was a small coil of rough garden twine, left behind near the plant stand leg. I planted both feet wide to balance my heavy head, then reached out to nudge the stiff fiber with my stubby hands. It rolled an inch and popped open into a loose, bristly hoop. I carefully rested my chin right in the center of the ring, feeling the prickly, dry grass texture press against my plush fur. It smells of dried earth and quiet night air.