Return to the Glass

Trotting back through the front door crack after a night under the park lamp, the familiar quiet of home greeted me. I scrambled straight up the woven armchair and back onto the wide wooden windowsill. A fresh morning breeze pushed against the glass pane, where a smooth condensation trail had formed. I tilted my head, studying a single round dewdrop trickling down the pane. With one swift, deliberate press of my front paw against the cool glass, I stopped its descent, leaving a tiny clean circle in the misty film.