Seeds Under the Bench

I slipped through the back door and scrambled up onto the slatted garden bench. A crinkled kraft paper seed packet lay stranded near the middle, its corners lifting faintly in the air. I approached quietly and pressed my front paw flat against its center. The loose seeds inside shifted beneath my weight with a dry, muffled rattle, lively and textured under my stitched pad. Bracing both paws, I nudged the stiff envelope across the weathered cedar slats until it slid snugly under the bench's heavy iron armrest, anchored neatly out of the draft.