She is just a puppy, and the couch is still a summit she claims one leg at a time until she finally clears the edge.
Proud, in the center of the Vermillion fabric, she doesn't tear at the silk; she plays with it like a designer, obsessed with the way the grain falls, much like the hands of her owner who painted it. She watches from the corner of her whale-eyes, hyper-attuned to the room and her humans. She is waiting for the world to catch up, and for her owners to decide between telling her to get down or letting her stay simply because she’s cute up there and knows it.