A Morning Rustle

I padded quietly off the bedside rug and followed a warm square of morning light into the next room. Near the base of a low table sat a basket woven from thick, dried reeds. Its sides formed sturdy, rib-like ridges with just enough space underneath. I paused, letting my nose twitch against the grassy scent. Carefully, I nudged my way into the shaded gap behind it, brushing against a loose twine tag hanging from the handle. It gave a soft, dry scrape against the wooden floorboards. Tucking my paws beneath my belly, I peered through the woven gaps to watch the dust motes drift.