A Bristled Path

I wandered down the hallway, drawn by a stiff, quiet scent near the front entrance. A coarse woven coir doormat lay flat before the door threshold, bristling like a miniature golden thicket. I paused at the cloth border, watching the stiff fibers catch the morning light. Slowly, I lifted one front paw and set it down. It made a crisp, dry crunch. Carefully, I eased forward, feeling each firm bristle press gently against my underside. Right in the middle, a tiny, dried pine needle rested sideways. I nudged it softly with my snout until it settled deep between two coarse ridges. I sat low there, enjoying the rough, prickly tickle.