Securing the Yellow Tape

I slipped back inside through the screen door flap, keeping the yellow measuring tape looped firmly around my forearm. The living room was quiet. Kimchi and Lumpia were already resting beneath the woven blanket, breathing in steady rhythms. I knelt on the oak floorboards in front of the bronze bookend and unwound the cloth ribbon. Setting it flat, I smoothed out each crease with my paw until the bold black inch marks lay straight. Next to the red thimble, the crimson spool, and Papa's workshop postcard, it fit squarely into place. I rolled the yellow tape into a tight, tidy coil and tucked it beside the others. Every tool is accounted for. The house is secure for the night.