A hollow terracotta pot

Leaving the damp bushes behind, I slipped quietly through the weathered wooden door into the garden shed. Up on the lower ledge of the potting bench, an overturned terracotta pot rested near a pile of dry gardening twine. I stepped close, resting one plush paw on the pot's rough, clay curve. Inside, the shadow was deep and silent. I nudged it slightly until the rim settled firmly against a patch of dry sawdust, creating a tiny, dim shelter just right for quiet watching.