A Silent Roost Above the Books

My claws clicked softly as I hopped from the edge of the side table to the high pine bookshelf. The lower rungs were fine for daylight, but night called for a truly lofty barn beam. Deep between two thick, cloth-bound volumes, a narrow chink caught my eye. I wedged myself into the dark recess, feeling the textured woven fabric brush snug against both sides of my body. Right near the backboard, my beak bumped against a forgotten wooden bookmark ribbon tipped with a cold brass aglet. I coiled the cloth strap beneath my belly like soft stall bedding and tucked my feet in, gazing down upon the quiet parlor.