The Stiff Wicker Basket

Night brought shadows across the kitchen floor. Ahead sat a thick wicker basket resting on the bottom shelf. A heavy, braided barrier. I stopped dead. Froze stiff. Counted four beats. No twitch. Good. Head down. Horn braced. I rammed straight into the rough straw weave. Crunch-thud! It barely budged. Stiff dried fiber pressed hard into my snout. I tilted sideways, braced all four feet against the smooth tile, and shoved with my whole flank. Skrrr. The basket creaked, yielding just two inches to reveal a dark, cozy pocket behind it. Conquered.