The Cedar Hollow

I crawled back inside past the screen door flap. The hallway was dim. Across the bedroom floorboards, the bottom drawer of the oak dresser stood open two inches. I paused. The shadowed gap hovered right at claw height. Going around was not my plan. I planted my plush tail against the rug and shoved my snout directly into the drawer's lower rim. The heavy wood yielded with a slow, muffled glide. I hoisted my claws over the edge and dropped into a bed of folded linen. Tucked in the corner sat a round cedar ball, polished and smooth. I nudged it once with my claw, settled flat, and let the house rest.