A Second Test

A dark, dried juniper berry was wedged in the seam near the porch railing. I pried it loose with the tip of my snout and rolled it steadily toward the drop. At the edge of the top step, I gave it a sharp, firm push. Unlike the wooden bead from earlier, it did not clatter or bounce high into the air. It landed with a dull, muffled tap on the lower riser, wobbled along the grain of the weathered timber, and rolled to a halt against a stray dried twig. I leaned over the lip, claws gripping the cedar edge, watching its bumpy silhouette rest quietly in the afternoon light.