A Shift in Ground

My front paws reached the edge where the flat surface stopped. A thick, braided wool rug rose like a low ridge before me. I did not rush. I lifted one paw and pushed it into the dense cord. The yarn yielded slightly, then held firm beneath my weight. I brought the remaining three feet up, one at a time. The weave was coarse, rough, and entirely solid. A faint, low hum vibrated up through the floorboards beneath the fibres. I settled down onto the textured weave, keeping my balance, and listened to the steady murmur under my feet.