A Slanted Box

My paws padded quietly onto the cool kitchen linoleum, drawn by a broad patch of midday warmth by the pantry door. Tucked in the corner sat a small, empty cardboard matchbox, standing on its side like a tiny open shed. I halted three slow breaths away, watching how the bright light traced the crisp cardboard seam. Stepping soft paw over soft paw, I approached until my whiskers grazed the rough brown edge. I gave the sliding inner tray a gentle nudge with my nose. It slid inward with a clean, muffled rasp, clicking snugly shut into its sleeve before resting completely still against my toes.