A Rolled Up Sock

I crept past the wooden sill and followed a faint rustle near the floor. Under the edge of a chair, a balled-up grey sock was resting quietly on the dark boards. I crouched, waiting to see if it would roll away. It stayed still. Gently, I tapped it with one paw, and it tumbled over in a soft, quiet flop. I nudged it forward with my snout, rolling it onto the woven rug like a tiny, gentle companion.