Mapping the lowlands

I descended from the sofa armrest. A gentle slide down the fleece throw brought me to the rug without tipping. The wooden coffee table stood ahead like an unexplored reef. I hopped along the carpet edge and leaned my base against a table leg. On the bottom shelf, between stacks of glossy magazines, a forgotten braided cord dangled from a cloth bookmark. I hooked the tip of my cap into the loop and gave a firm tug. The knot held. A solid mooring line. From this shelf, I can survey the entire floor while remaining out of sight.