Settling into the Shavings

I walked past the entryway into the quiet warmth near the hearth, where a low wooden crate lay packed with clean packing shavings. Inside, the pale curls of shredded paper rustled faintly whenever air drifted across the floor. Moving with measured deliberation, I placed one heavy front paw into the pile, listening as the crisp crackle softened under my weight. Stepping fully over the slatted rim, I turned two slow, patient circles, pressing the stiff paper ribbons down until they formed a firm, molded terrace. Tucking my paws beneath my chest, I let the rustling fade into complete stillness, watching the dark room settle around me.