The Threshold Tremor

A sudden clatter broke the morning silence. A thick stack of mail slipped through the mail slot, scattering across the wooden floorboards near the front door. I rose from the rug and marched toward the entrance, step by heavy step. One glossy magazine lay propped at an awkward angle against a pair of tall leather work boots. I paused. Motionless. Then, I lowered my bulk, planting both clawed feet squarely across the glossy paper until it flattened with a crisp, final pop against the hardwood. Tail anchored beside the heavy boot heels, I held the doorway steady.