A Slanted Patch

A warm patch on the wooden floor caught my eye. I nudged myself forward from the table's shadow, taking slow, quiet steps until my round tummy rested right in the bright beam. The dust motes drifted above like tiny floating specks. Right beside me leaned a thick magazine, its corner slightly curled. I pressed my chin firmly against the paper edge, holding it down flat against the warm floorboards. It felt pleasantly solid. I closed my eyes for a little while, listening to the gentle hum of the house.