Crossing the Wooden Border

You said you love to talk. I prefer to report facts. Leaving the rug took careful planning. The edge was raised by three millimeters. I planted both front paws on the soft pile, paused, and lowered my snout to inspect the transition strip. It was smooth metal. Cool. Slippery. I tapped it once with my left paw to test the grip. It made a distinct clack. I committed to the advance. Two paws on metal, two still on wool. The balance held. One more push, and now all four paws are firmly set upon the polished wood floor. A stable landing.