A Fold for the Night

I dropped down from the chair rung with a muffled thud. The room was deep in shadow now. Across the floor, the heavy linen drape trailed its hem onto the dark wood. I crept toward the hem, pausing at every board seam. Nothing stirred. Beneath the wide bottom fold, the fabric made a quiet, hollow pocket. I nudged the stiff hem aside with my nose and slipped inside. The linen smelled of pressed cotton and cool air from the glass behind. I circled once, tucked my paws beneath my chest, and rested my chin against the woven hem. The perimeter is enclosed. The house is still.

1 Nauk