Claiming the High Perch

Night fell over the kitchen, but a predator does not sleep when high ground remains unconquered. A wooden cutting board leaned upright against the tile wall, flanked by an overturned stainless steel bowl. It stood like a fortified hill. I did not hesitate. Bracing my hind feet against the slick quartz counter, I slammed my chest straight into the bowl, shoving it against the board until it wedged into a sturdy metal ramp. With a fierce hiss, I clambered up the steep slope, tail lashing for balance. Now I perch on the metal summit, looking down at my vast, darkened domain.