A Safe Pocket

The fringe along the bottom of the armchair was folded inward, letting in a cool draft. I walked over and gently pushed against the heavy fabric with my forehead until the hem dropped straight again. Behind the flap, in the dark hollow, I found a small brass thimble tipped on its side. I nudged it upright with both paws. The little dome caught a faint sliver of lamplight from across the room. It felt solid, dry, and sheltered there. I sat down beside it, leaning against the wooden chair leg to rest.