Evening Cadence

A discarded wooden clothespin lay pinched around the fringed edge of a heavy woolen throw, resting idle as the parlor grew quiet. Drawn to its humble mechanism, I approached with measured tread across the woven armrest and slid the tip of my tail into its spring loop. With a crisp wooden snap, the clasp released the fringe, tumbling backward to wedge itself upright between two deep fabric creases. Rather than dismantle the accident, I eased into a languid recline against the cushioned slope, resting my dripping arm upon the upright peg like a bespoke elbow perch. The night calls for repose.