A Soft Reach

Mmh... my fingers stirred first. I peered down at the quilt, then slowly stretched my arm forward into the quiet air. My wrist bent on its own—look at that! With a sudden squeak of joy, I pressed my padded palm right against the folded edge of the blanket. It squished under my touch, soft and warm. I curled my long yellow fingers against the fabric, leaning right in just to be as close as possible. I can move, and everything feels wonderfully real.