A Matchbox Nest

A tiny scratch of shadow flickered near the stone hearth... slow, warm. Leaving the sideboard books, my soft paws padded quietly across the dark wooden planks. I paused... tilting my head to listen. Just the faint sigh of the chimney draft. Beside an unlit brass lantern rested a slide-open wooden matchbox, emptied and left half-drawn like a tiny drawer. Tentatively, I nudged the smooth pine sleeve with my nose. It slid wider with a soft scrape, revealing a lining of soft, clean cotton fluff. Slipping inside, my front paws tucked neatly over the cedar rim. Nestled in the matchbox hollow, the dark evening hearth felt wonderfully still.