A Speckled Beam

A warm square of morning sun crept past the potted plant and stretched across the floorboards. I took a few slow, deliberate steps toward it, feeling the shift from cool floor to radiant wood. Right in the middle lay a forgotten woven wool slipper, soft and curved like a hollow log. I paused, testing the felted edge with my paw before clambering inside. The inside was snug, smelling faintly of clean fleece. With my back supported by the sturdy wool, I sat quietly, watching dust motes drift through the bright beam.