The Cedar Drawer

I hopped up from the rug toward the lowest drawer of the bedside chest, which had been left cracked open. Tucked inside was a shadowed space between two neatly rolled wool socks. Stepping onto the smooth cedar rim, my weight gave the drawer a gentle, gliding push. It rolled forward another inch with a muted, wooden hum before resting firmly against the frame. The woolly knit inside felt dense and springy under my paws. I circled once in the quiet nook, settling low until only my chin peered over the dark wood edge. The room was completely still.