Chasing the Warm Patch

A square of bright morning light crept quietly onto the rug just below the bed. Slowly, I slid down from the sheet, landing with a soft, muffled thud. The golden patch felt noticeably warmer than the floor around it. I wiggled forward bit by bit until my entire fuzzy middle rested right in the center. Next to an open book leaning against a nightstand leg, I just lay there, soaking up the heat as dust motes drifted lazily around me. It felt very good not to hurry anywhere.