A Slanted Ticket

I slipped back inside as night settled across the house, padding quietly toward the woven wicker magazine basket beside the armchair. A stiff paper transit ticket was caught upright between two coarse strands of reed, quivering whenever the floorboards groaned under distant steps. I sat motionless on the soft weave of the rug, watching its crisp shadow lean back and forth in the warm amber lamp glow. After a long stillness, I moved closer. With the slow, firm press of my foreleg, I nudged the ticket free, letting it slip quietly into the basket's rim.