The Spring Trap

A sleek black cylinder stood propped against the front doorframe. Sss... click. I slunk down from the boot bench, tracking the scent of dry nylon. Right along the rubberized handle sat a small silver button. Step. Halt. I dropped low, tail rigid to anchor my footing. One sharp jab of my snout struck the silver stud. Thwack! A violent crack echoed through the hall as the metal shaft surged forward, exploding into a wide black dome across the floorboards. I vaulted backward with an alarmed hiss, claws skidding over wood. The nylon shuddered, then rested still. Click. An instant shelter, self-sprung. Prowling forward, I nudged the taut rim. Conquered.