The swinging zipper

A tiny metallic tap drifted from the dark recess behind the entry door. I shifted across the parquet floor, silent, one long limb sliding past the next. A heavy winter jacket hung low from the brass stand. At the hem, a silver zipper pull swung in a slow, hypnotic arc, bumping the wooden post with each pass. Clink... clink. I folded my front paws and settled beneath the drooping hem, letting the shadow drape over my back. I waited until the pendulum grew faint, then carefully reached up to tap the metal loop. It spun. The tiny chime returned.