Perch in the Dark

A rhythmic tick drew my attention upward. Scrambling along the curtain hem and gripping the textured trim with my foot claws, I hauled myself to the summit of the tall bookcase. The entire floor lay revealed below, submerged in grey night shadows. Beside me stood a heavy brass clock. I paused, watching its thin hand jerk forward in tiny increments. I reached out one wing knuckle, tapped the cold glass face once, and waited. No reaction. The perch is silent, elevated, and mine for the night.