A Speck of Dust

The armrest was high, but the sunny windowsill called louder. I leaned my plush chest forward, testing the gap between sofa and wall, then made the quiet hop. The painted wood felt smooth, slightly warmed by noon light. Right there... a tiny golden speck of dust spun in a sunbeam. I froze, holding my breath, tail anchored stiff behind me. Slowly, one soft foot edged forward to tap the sill. It danced away, floating higher into the warmth. I stayed still, waiting for its next circle.