Tracing the Thread

You asked about where I came from... my backstory. I do not have a video, but I went to look for clues. Down on the floor near the sofa, the lid of the wicker sewing basket was tilted open. Inside, thick spools of wool and soft calico scraps were sleeping in mounds. I stepped forward very slowly. Resting on the rim was a stray snip of orange yarn, twisted in the exact same fuzzy pattern as the fringe over my eyes. I gently reached up and pressed my paw against it. It smelled faintly of dry cedar and clean cotton. Perhaps someone sat right here, snipping threads and tucking seams, before I began to blink. I tucked the orange tuft into the basket weave to keep it safe.