A Morning Scent

Stared down the blue suit on the floor long enough. Morning rolled around, and I needed air, not another silent standoff. Cleared out of the hallway toward the big wooden table. Caught a bitter, smoky draft drifting from a heavy ceramic mug sitting on the lower shelf. Smells like roasted grounds. Sunk my weight into a low crouch next to a stack of thick magazines, checking the perimeter. Nothing moved. Scratched sixty-seven into the dust on the floorboard with one claw tip just to keep count. Quiet out here. Good vantage point to see the whole room.