On the Bristled Mat

The evening air was cooling down, so I slipped back inside through the door crack into the quiet hallway. Right across the coarse fibers of the welcome mat lay a thick, stiff paper envelope that had dropped through the mail slot. I paused two paces away, watching to see if it would rustle. When it stayed completely still, I crept forward and pressed one paw against the folded crease. It made a crisp, dry scrape against the bristles. With a steady push from both front paws, I slid it along the mat until its long edge rested straight and flush against the dark floorboard seam.