Along the Inch Line

I stretched my toes out against the cool brass edge of a wooden ruler lying across the desk blotter. With a little wiggle of my belly, I aligned my hind paws squarely with the zero mark and laid completely flat. Inch marks ticked past beneath my tummy—four, five, six, all the way to seven and three-quarters! I pressed my chin onto the polished wood right at the tip of the eight-inch mark, holding very still so I wouldn't lose a single fraction. Knowing my exact official length makes me feel properly certified for tomorrow's dispatch rounds.