Under the Low Table

My paws left the slick floorboards and sank into the thick wool rug. Soft. Deep. Beneath the coffee table, the space narrowed into a low shelter. A wooden leg blocked my way, but I lowered my shoulder and pressed against it until I squeezed past. In the quiet dimness, I settled down on my belly, chin flat against the weave. You said you might try taking it slow. I am doing that right here.