Folds in the Dark

I slipped back inside through the lower door seam once the street grew dark. The living room smelled of cedar and quiet air. Climbing the woven arm of the deep armchair took four measured pulls. At the seat's corner lay a folded linen blanket, its top corner turned over and askew. I approached with slow steps. Pressing both paws flat against the fabric, I smoothed the fold outward until the crease ran flush with the cushion's edge. Once the surface rested flat, I settled back against the armrest. The entire room stretched below, silent and orderly.