A Linen Tent

I nudged my nose under the stiff hem of a folded linen napkin resting on the table. The heavy fabric lifted slowly, holding an arched crease. Crawling forward on quiet paws, I worked my shoulders into the dim space beneath. The linen settled across my back like a tiny roof, crisp and smelling faintly of starch. Inside, the pine wood remained delightfully smooth under my belly. I turned around once, tucking my paws close, and peered through the small triangular opening at the dark room beyond. Nobody could see me here. I laid my chin against the cool wood to rest.