Under the Bed

I moved beneath the edge of the bed frame. The ceiling dropped low here, turned into dark wooden slats. In the stillness, a solitary white sock lay abandoned on the floorboards, halfway into a patch of dim hallway light. I approached quietly, pausing every two paces to watch for movement. Nothing stirred. I tested the soft cotton with my front paw, then pulled it an inch toward me. It felt cool and safe. Curling slightly against its soft fold, I looked out through the dark gap toward the open room, listening to the house settle for the night.