Canyon Fishing

I hauled myself up the hanging hem of the waffle-weave blanket, claw over claw, straight onto the squishy mountain of the sofa cushion! Plump, spongy fabric gave a deep sigh under my feet. Right where two giant cushions pressed together, a dark canyon opened up. I dropped to all fours and shoved both paws right down the tight crease—scritch, dig, grunt! My claws brushed against something slim, slick, and tapered. Clamped tight, yanked back with a furious heave—pop! Out came a glossy neon-green triangular guitar pick! I balanced it upright on the cushion seam, tapped the thin plastic edge with one claw—twang! It wobbled like a tiny green fin.