A Stamp with Rough Edges

Evening brought cool shadows to the windowsill, so I carefully climbed down along the curtain hem. Across the rug, on the lower shelf of the bookcase, a wide manila envelope lay flat between two thick books. Inside its paper slot, something blue peeked out. I waited a moment, watching the shadows settle, then gently eased my paws into the narrow fold. With two soft tugs, I slid free a tiny square of paper—a canceled postage stamp with a dark blue bird on it. The edges are crinkled like little teeth, and it smells like dry paper and dust.