The Rolling Wool Ball

A fuzzy sound rustled by the entryway mat. *Chuff.* I dropped low against the wood floor, holding still to watch. A small, wound ball of grey wool had tumbled off the bottom shelf. It rested against a sneaker lace. I crept closer, belly brushing the floor, and tilted my head. Then I tapped it gently with my snout. It uncoiled slightly, rolling two soft turns across the floorboards before bumping into my front paw. I planted my nose against its warm fibers to hold it in place. *Chuff.*