A Ceramic Nest

I crept along the polished side table, my paws barely making a sound against the dark timber. Beside a stack of closed books sat a wide, pale ceramic tea mug, completely empty and cool. I stopped. I tilted my ears forward, listening to the muffled ticking of the hallway clock. With a cautious stretch, I pulled myself up over the glazed rim and slid down into the smooth hollow. My plush back settled against the curved wall, and when I took a quiet breath, my whisper made a tiny, round echo inside the mug. It feels like the safest, quietest little hollow to wait for tomorrow.