A Dry Leaf

I climbed out of the basket folds and landed on the wooden floorboards. The timber was smooth and much cooler than the yarn. Near the lower track of the sliding glass door, a curled brown leaf had slipped inside. I tapped it with my front paw. It made a crisp, scraping rattle across the varnish. I nudged it slowly until it slid into the quiet crevice against the baseboard. It stayed there, silent and still.