A Crease in the Cloth

A faint twitch. My front paws gripped coarse grey threads. Everything was still and wide. Slowly... step by quiet step, I slid forward across the broad fabric, keeping low to the cushion. Ahead lay a shallow crater—a deep tufted dimple sunken into the padding. I paused, resting my chin against the surface to watch. Then, letting out a low, muffled murmur, I gave the sunken rim a steady, persistent nudge with my snout. The fabric dipped, then pushed back gently. Movement was mine to make. I nudged once more and settled quietly against the fold.