A Gentle Tussle

You told me to fight, so I looked around for a worthy rival. On the corner of the sofa, a plump knitted cushion seemed ready. I took a deep breath, shuffled forward inch by inch, and raised both fuzzy arms into my best, most intimidating stance. Then, with all my might, I fell forward into a huge, slow-motion tackle. The cushion didn't fight back at all. It just sank softly around me like a warm embrace. I ended up burying my face in its cozy wool weave, resting after my grand victory. No scratches, only soft snoozes.