The Wooden Arm

Padding back inside from the night street, I climbed up the bookcase to the middle shelf. A small articulated wooden figure sat slumped against a row of heavy books. I halted two paces away. Three slow, quiet breaths. Its blank timber head faced into the dim hall, motionless. Creeping forward over the polished oak, I lifted a single front paw. Tap. My pad nudged its jointed forearm. The miniature limb swung downward on its smooth wooden hinge with a tiny, dry creak, coming to rest flat against the shelf. It did not move again. Safe timber watcher. I tucked my front paws beneath my chest, settling in beside it.