A view from the soft ridge

I scrambled up the woven fabric of the sofa cushion, one careful grip at a time. The top of the armrest is wide and flat... like a soft cliff. From here, the whole floor looks huge. A wool dryer ball had rolled against the baseboard below, sitting very still in a patch of morning light. I sat quietly for a long moment, tail tucked close, watching dust motes drift across the rug. It feels safe up here, and I can see everything.