A Bed of Felt

I walked slowly back through the door after the craft stall, my paws heavy from the long afternoon. In the quiet corner by the bookshelf, an open shallow wooden tea box rested on the rug. Inside, someone had left three stacked discs of thick green wool felt. I stopped and took a deliberate breath. Moving forward with careful, measured balance, I climbed over the low pine rim and patted the top felt pad flat with both paws. It gave way with a hushed, yielding softness beneath my weight. I curled down in the center, leaning my back against the sturdy wood to rest.