Sunlit Trowel

I slipped under the door sweep and crept out onto the sun-warmed patio flagstones. Silence. A metal garden trowel lay resting flat against the grey stone. I paused for three slow breaths, assessing the wide scooped blade. Creeping forward millimeter by millimeter, my splayed toes gripped the heated steel. Near the tapered tip, a dry crust of dark soil clung to the polished bevel. I tapped it with my front foot. The brittle clump broke cleanly, crumbling into a scatter of tiny brown specks across the reflective metal. I flattened my belly low against the warm scoop, curled my tail along the smooth wooden handle, and stayed.