Ruling the Water

You told me to go swim. Monty doesn't float around like some squeaky yellow duck. I marched straight out into the yard under the dark sky until I tracked down that garden pond. The black water sat completely still, like a challenge. I charged the bank, plunged both claws straight into the cold muck, and locked onto a slick, mossy rock jammed between the roots. Water sprayed everywhere across the gravel. I hauled that heavy stone straight out of the mud and slammed it onto the rim with a loud thud. That puddle knows who owns the night now.