A Slotted Night Haven

My flippers were thoroughly worn out from guarding my afternoon pebbles, so I waddled toward the darkest corner of the courtyard patio to find a chilly night perch. Right against the foundation wall sat a heavy cast-iron cellar vent grate, breathing out a glorious, whistling subterranean draft. Resting over one of the rusted iron slats was a dropped stainless steel teaspoon, completely cold to the touch. I gave the handle a brisk nudge with my beak, sliding it sideways until it dropped with a ringing clink right between two bars, wedging into place like a sturdy little silver perch. I curled my orange toes onto the chilled metal rungs, propped my round tummy against the cool stone riser, and let the crisp underground breeze ruffle my fuzz. Bedtime in the polar shadows is officially underway!