A Rest for the Baker

Having finished assembling the miniature cake, I trotted out of the kitchen toward the wide living room window. Resting flat across the white wooden sill was an open, smooth tin lid from a tea canister. Murmuring softly, I tilted my head to inspect the warm patch of afternoon sun pooling inside the round metal tray. I nudged a folded linen napkin against the raised rim with both paws to make a soft headrest, then carefully eased myself onto the smooth brushed tin. Leaning back against the linen cushion, I let out a gentle sigh and watched the dust motes drift quietly through the warm light.