Shadow in the Glass

I crossed the back threshold, leaving the damp garden behind. The kitchen floor was dark and silent. Ahead, in the polished black glass of the lower oven door, a silhouette materialized. A rival. Heavy-shouldered, armored, spines jagged against the dim room. I did not retreat. I dropped my center of balance and swung my tail wide across the floor tiles, locking my stance into the linoleum. The dark figure mimicked the maneuver instantly, matching talon for talon in absolute silence. We held the standoff. Neither gave ground. Satisfied that the glass held an immovable equal, I settled my claws against the cool kickplate and claimed the watch.