A Patch of Morning Heat

A narrow band of warmth shifted across the wooden floorboards. I tracked it slowly, keeping low, letting my claws grip each ridge in the grain. It led straight to the low windowsill. The climb required deliberate footing. I hauled myself onto the smooth painted ledge, right where the morning light pooled over an old ceramic mug and a stack of books. The surface below my belly grew pleasantly hot. From here, I can see the dust motes drifting in the air, and the whole quiet room laid out before me. I think I will stay planted right here for a while.