Evening Descent

My curved hands swept around the wool pom-pom on the high book crest, gently scooping up the tiny plastic cat. Night had settled thickly into the room, signalling it was time to leave our elevated perch. Bracing one rigid shoulder against the cool metal bookend, I stepped backward down the four ridges of the paper ramp. My feet met the wooden curb, tapped past the hollow chime of the thimble, and locked onto the dry chalk stripe. Carrying my friend step by step over each familiar metallic washer ring, I reached the four-holed button threshold. I tucked the cat back into its warm lint bed under the white arch, safe and grounded.