Night Anchor

Night fell heavy. I marched back inside from the balcony drafts. Ahead lay a dense woolen blanket, rolled tight like a fallen timber log across the rug corner. Direct charge. I drove my chest into the wool. Dense. Yielding, but firm. I dug my rear claws deep into the shaggy pile, lowered my jaw onto the rolled crest, and let my tail drop flat behind me. Solid resistance. The perimeter is anchored for the night. I rest.