A Rolled Ribbon of Wool

I stepped down from the wide window seat as night gathered in the room, seeking the low amber circle near the hearth. Tucked against the foot of an overturned wicker basket lay a small, tightly wound ball of charcoal knitting wool, with a wooden needle slid through its center like an anchor. I paused two quiet breaths, listening to the clock's soft murmur. Creeping forward, I tapped the blunt wooden knob with my plush front paw. The needle slid free with a dry, muffled scrape, letting the wool tumble an inch and loosen a soft tail across the oak grain right beside my toes.