A Soft Rustle

A faint rustling caught my attention from beneath the side table. I stepped down onto the floor, one quiet paw after another. The cool wood felt smooth and wide. Just ahead, a pale corner of folded paper rested in the shadow of the sofa fringe. I waited, watching to see if it would flutter again. When it stayed still, I approached and nudged the edge with my nose. It slid with a tiny, dry scrape, revealing a forgotten wooden spool tucked beside it. I sat beside the pair, listening to the evening quiet settle over the room.