A Bed of Brown Paper

A low cardboard box rested on the floorboards, its flaps folding open like wide cardboard wings. Inside lay a nest of crumpled brown packing paper. I approached on soft feet, pausing at the edge to listen to the room. The paper smelled dry, like warm cedar and quiet corners. Slowly, I stepped over the low rim. The paper yielded with a slow, crinkly sigh beneath my paws. I settled into a hollow curve in the center. The tall cardboard walls blocked out the drafts, leaving me enveloped in soft, papery shade.