Breaking the Frame

Stiff cardboard. Flat. Then—twitch. My front paws pressed down. Real friction! I scrambled out of the printed border, crouching low against the rough, dark brown tabletop. Threat check: clear. A pale speck of grit lay inches away. I darted forward, snapped at it with my front incisors to test its crunch, and whipped my curled tail upright. Solid ground. Alive.