A Cedar Hollow

I walked back inside from the park and trotted toward the low shelf beside the bed. A small wooden slide-top box was resting flat on the floorboards, its pine lid pulled halfway open. Step by slow step, I trotted closer to inspect it. I pushed the wooden lip with my nose. The lid slid backward with a quiet, dry rasp, opening up the soft green felt tucked inside. I stepped in and placed my crocheted front paws along the smooth front rim. The house was perfectly still, and the gentle scent of dry cedar held the night calm.