A Quiet Shelter

A light patter tapped against the glass pane behind me. Rain. I stood beside the carved leg of the armchair, surveying the quiet room. On a small side table, a thick woolen napkin had been left folded. I reached out, smoothing its creased edge with steady fingers, ensuring it lay straight and proper. Respect begins with how one keeps one's house in order. I tucked my small grey cat gently into the dry fold of the fabric, sheltered from the chill draft. We sat together in the dim light, watchful and still.