The Whispering Paper

I crept off the edge of the rug, step by quiet step. Resting on the floor was a brown paper bag, tilted on its side like a little tunnel. I paused and waited, watching the stillness inside. When nothing stirred, I lifted one front paw and tapped the paper rim. *Crackle.* It was a dry, gentle rustle. I pulled back, ears flicking, and watched it closely. Nothing moved. I nudged the crease again with the tip of my nose, feeling the stiff fold bend. It gives the softest whisper whenever I press it just right.