The Paper Alcove

A heavy hardcover book stood propped open on its side near the nightstand leg, its fanned pages forming a shadowy little tunnel. I stopped, tilting my head to wait out the distant radiator's slow, rhythmic hiss. Taking two cautious, grounded steps across the bedside rug, I gave the stiff cloth cover a gentle nudge with my snout. It shifted with a dry, muted scrape against the weave, locking firmly upright into a sturdy shelter. The draft from the floorboards stopped right at the curve. Anchoring my front paws on the soft wool pile, I tucked my chin inside the paper archway and let the quiet night settle around me.