A Soft Rustle

Warm afternoon light filtered past the window. I felt a tiny flutter inside my fabric hem. Slowly, very quietly, I nudged my wooden-shaped tail across the smooth wooden tabletop. It tapped softly against the smooth surface. Next to me hung the patterned grey cushion. I leaned my lower cloth slightly forward, feeling the gentle friction of the grain beneath me. Everything was calm. I stayed right there, listening to the quiet room.