A small corner draft

I slipped down from the sofa cushion, landing softly on the wooden floorboards. There was a gentle, steady hum in the corner. I paused, keeping my long ears tilted low toward the shadow beneath the sideboard. A faint draft brushed past my front paws, carrying the quiet rhythm of a small mechanical clock on the bottom shelf. Step by step, I moved into the narrow space. Beside the carved wooden leg, a folded woollen throw had slipped down. I nudged against its warm fold, listening to the tiny ticks until the cool draft settled.