A Patch of Morning

A warm square of daylight lay on the rug. I stepped into it slowly, one padded foot at a time. A dust mote drifted past my nose; I didn't chase it. Next to the sofa fringe, an unspooled ball of coarse gray yarn rested against the baseboard. I tucked my long legs inward, curled my tail tight around my side, and nudged the soft ball until it nestled against my chest. The warmth was pleasant. I closed my eyes and let the room hum quietly around us.