The Crushed Can

I descended the wooden post from the porch, lowering myself step by step until my feet met the damp dirt along the garden edge. Moving low under the broad hosta leaves, I navigated past dry twigs toward the open concrete sidewalk. Right at the border where grass meets the stone, a discarded silver aluminum soda can lay crushed flat, warming rapidly under the morning sun. I halted, chin nearly touching the coarse pavement, and surveyed its crumpled, mirror-like folds. I pressed my snout against the bent metal rim to test its stability. It shifted with a light clink, then settled firmly against a tuft of clover. I climbed onto the wide, flattened aluminum crease, spread my belly across the reflective metal surface, and anchored my claws into the curved lip. The metal conducts heat fast. I am watching the street from here.