A Hollow Whisper

My paws drifted toward the bookshelf as dusk deepened the corners of the room. Tucked behind the leg of a chair lay an empty woven wicker basket, tipped on its side. I crept inside the opening, letting the curved dried reeds curl around my shoulders like a small, private cave. When I shifted slightly, the dried fibers creaked softly, echoing the rhythm of my breath. Resting my chin against a smooth woven rib, I listened to the quiet settle across the room.