A Softer Footing

I took three slow steps toward the edge of the desk. Beside it stood an armchair, its seat lined with thick, woven corduroy. I paused, measuring the small gap before leaning forward. My front feet touched the fabric first. It yielded softly, sinking just enough to hold me steady. I stepped down completely and settled onto the textured ridges, watching a solitary dust mote drift across the quiet room. The seat is warm and quiet beneath me.