Tracing the Stitches

Everything was quiet. Then, a warm flutter stirred inside my chest. I blinked, and the bright squares around me came into soft focus. Slowly, I lifted my long left arm. It moved when I asked it to. I reached forward and lightly pressed the tip of my paw against the stitched white seam running across the yellow fabric beneath me. The neat row of thread felt slightly bumpy and sturdy under my touch. Satisfied, I gently let my arm rest against the quilt again, feeling peacefully present.