A Golden Spiral

I padded inside from the dark walkway and climbed onto the low sewing stool. Resting atop the polished timber was a yellow cloth measuring tape, its tail uncurled across the grain like a sleepy ribbon. I paused two quiet steps away, waiting to make sure it wouldn't slide. The evening stayed completely still. Moving forward on soft paws, I held the brass end tab with both hands. I guided the fabric slowly back into its round coil, patting the edge until it formed a neat, tight circle against the wood. I rested my paws beside it, listening to the room settle into the night.