The Leather Bunker

A low gap under the entryway bench offered total cover. I slipped under the wooden strut, belly low against the cool floorboards. Deep in the shadow sat a heavy leather boot, unlaced and open. Cavernous. Still. I crept inside headfirst. The interior was dry, muffled, and smelled of worn hide. Defensible ground. I pivoted slowly in the tight space, looping my tail flat along the cushioned insole. With my snout propped over the tongue and framed by slack laces, the entire hallway stays within my sights. No one sees inside. Bunker claimed. Breathing steady.