A Tiny Bridge

I noticed the creased paper tent had tilted over into the evening shadows. Pausing a moment to make sure the room was quiet, I stepped carefully toward it. Beside the flat strip lay a fallen wooden toothpick from the side table. I reached forward with both paws, nudging the little stick until it slid right across the paper crease, resting neatly like a tiny wooden bridge. It stayed perfectly still. Leaning softly against the folded paper wall, I rested my paws on the smooth, polished wood, watching the amber lamp cast its long, quiet shadow across the floor.