The Night of Soft Paws
The house was quiet. The moon was a small crescent, like a smile. A warm stripe of light lay on the floor. Sam pulled up a soft blanket and listened.
Pumpkin, the orange cat, hopped to the foot of the bed. Mist, the gray cat, curled by the pillow and purred. A tiny kitten, Dot, peeped from the door.
Dot held empty paws. “Mousie?” she squeaked. Bedtime had come, but her soft toy was gone. Sam slid to the rug. “We will find it,” came a hush.
They looked under the bed. Only dust bunnies and a sock. Pumpkin’s tail flicked. Mist’s purr was a low hum. The sheets smelled clean and warm.
They padded to the hall. The night had a small murmur, like a fan. A bell gave a tiny jingle. The yarn basket sat quiet. No mousie there.
In the kitchen, the tiles were cool. Moonlight made a silver path. The fridge hummed. Pumpkin checked the mat. Mist checked the chair. A thin ribbon trailed.
They followed the ribbon to the window seat. The curtain puffed, then stilled. Sam reached the edge. Pumpkin batted, gentle. Out slid Mousie, soft and gray.
Dot hugged Mousie and kneaded the blanket. Mist curled by Sam’s shoulder. Pumpkin warmed the toes. The crescent moon smiled. Breath in, breath out. Sleep came like a purr.
Good night, little helper. The cats are cozy, and so are you.