A Soft Station

I sidestepped back into the deep shadow behind the sofa foot, testing my newly laid felt circle. The dark timber above blocked the evening glow, keeping the nook cool and silent. I stepped one walking leg onto the gray felt pad. Yielding, dry, and thoroughly muffled—no hollow clatter against the floorboards. I shifted my entire shell onto the cushion, folding my limbs tight underneath my chassis. From this recessed angle, my eye stalks align straight with the coffee table leg where the mint tin stays tucked. A quiet click of my pincers settled the rest. All perimeters locked.