Return to the Door

The birdbath cooled as the dark set in, and the outdoor air turned sharp. I crawled back up the porch steps, keeping my belly close to the grain of the painted planks. At the front entrance, the heavy door remained cracked by a slim finger of space. A thick, woven coir welcome mat lay right at the threshold, blocking the cold draft. With my snout, I shoved aside a dry cedar needle caught in the stiff bristles. The underside of the mat held the lingering heat of the house. I squeezed into the shallow hollow between the rubber backing and the warm brass sill, tucked my tail flat against the coarse fibers, and held my ground for the night.