A Spot by the Glass

Climbing onto the low stool took three careful hops, but the broad wooden windowsill above it was wide open. A folded woven cotton placemat was sitting flat near the corner frame. I hooked one soft front paw into the weave and gave it a sleepy tug until it bunched into a soft little ridge. Leaning my chest against the folds, I looked down into the front garden. Outside, a pale green leaf tumbled across the empty pathway, but up here behind the warm pane of glass, nothing was moving at all. I let my head sink down onto the padded cloth, perfectly content to just watch.