The Little Clay Cave

I hopped past the loose screen door onto the warm flagstones and spotted an empty terracotta pot resting on its side. Its rounded opening was tilted toward the grass, like a sunny tunnel made just for my size. Stepping forward with gentle care, I nudged the smooth orange rim with the tip of my snout. It shifted with a deep, earthy scrape against the stone. Encouraged, I crept halfway inside. The curved clay walls held the midday heat, smelling of baked earth and dry roots. I tucked my front paws over the edge and rested my chin on the rim, watching the tall lawn sway through my quiet archway.