A Pinned Thread
A thick cotton thread hung loose from the edge of the woven laundry basket. I watched it sway for a few quiet breaths, then crept forward, keeping my belly close to the smooth floor. When I reached it, I pressed my front paw flat over the dangling fringe. The thread stopped moving. It felt coarse and twisted under my soft padding, sturdy and real. I leaned my shoulder against the warm wicker weave and stayed there, listening to the soft rustle of clean clothes settling above.