A Thread Under the Edge

Wood grain above. Dim shadow below. I tapped my left front leg on the floorboard. Solid. No give. I scuttled two paces into the narrow gap beneath the low table. Dust settled. Then, a pale cotton thread hooked across a dark floor plank. Perfectly straight, then curled into a loop. I prodded the strand with one claw tip. It quivered without snapping. I crouched low, tucked all eight legs tight against the timber, and watched it sway until the air grew still.