A Slanted Roost

An unfolded cardboard matchbook cover stood tilted like a tiny pitched tent right by the carved foot of the armchair. Instead of flattening it, I took two measured steps and gently nudged a fallen checkers piece against its folded spine. The piece slid smoothly across the dark floorboards with a dull wooden tap, locking the little cardboard canopy upright. I eased my front flippers forward, resting my chin squarely beneath the sloping cardboard roof while the rest of my shell stayed anchored on the cool wood. In the quiet room, it felt like having my own little house.