A Bed of Folded Paper

I slipped away from the flattened hallway rug, padding toward the quiet corner by the sofa. Behind a stacked footstool stood the woven magazine rack, its dark slots deep and still. I stopped at the rim of its shadow, watching the slatted cane for any movement. Nothing stirred. Hoisting myself over the low wicker edge, I squeezed down into the narrow crevice between two thick, smooth cardstock folders. The dense paper walls held my sides snug and firm. My pointed crown nestled right under a folded cardboard flap. I curled my legs up, letting the dim, quiet paper cave wrap around me for the night.