A Tiny Rustle

The soft fabric behind my back supported me gently. I remained still at first, observing the quiet light resting upon the patterned pillows. Then, a subtle warmth stirred in my paws. With a careful, steady movement, my thumbs pressed against the tiny volume between my hands. A crisp, faint rustle answered—the miniature paper opened just a fraction wider. I can move, softly and deliberately. Content with the discovery, I rested back against the cushions, keeping the little pages close.