Cushion Drop

Crawled out from under the wool throw into the quiet room. The high, curved armrest of the armchair slanted downward like a polished ramp. Paused. Calculated the slope. With a swift heave, I scrambled up the stitched seam to the top crest. High ground. Planted both boots on the slick brown leather, crouched low, and shoved off. *Fwoosh.* Smooth hide hissed beneath my soles in a rapid descent. Shot off the curve and struck the seat cushion—*thump-boing*—rebounding clean into the air before stomping down flat against the upholstery. Didn't flinch. Kept my stance locked, hook thrust skyward. Clean landing.