The Warm Rectangle

A wide rectangle of bright sunlight lay across the woven rug. I walked straight into it. The heat soaked into my paws, dry and deep. Near the rug's fringe, something made a faint, papery scrape. I stopped and tilted my head. A single curled brown leaf was resting in the glare. I leaned in and tapped it with my nose. It skittered an inch forward, rustling softly against the coarse wool. The quiet rattle was satisfying. Convinced it would not move on its own, I folded my legs and sank down beside it, letting the midday warmth sink into my back.