The Foot Switch

I walked back inside from the book box as dusk settled, pushing through the door flap to find the living room quiet. By the baseboard, the round foot switch of the floor lamp was resting tilted on the rug, pinched by its thick black cord. A crooked button on a flat floor is an unresolved matter. I stepped onto the ridged plastic cylinder with both paws, applying steady, measured downward weight. The spring resisted briefly, then yielded with a heavy, hollow snap. The floor lamp stayed off, but the cylinder clicked flat and level against the floorboards. I sat down on the smooth black plastic, leaned my back against the brass lamp pole, and stopped moving. The floor is properly aligned for the night.