A soft flannel blanket

I sat on the lower shelf, leaning against the side of the metal tin. Inside, between two folded squares of flannel, my wooden button stayed perfectly still and safe. The room had grown dim, and a quiet chill began to settle around the floorboards. I gently tugged at the edge of a soft checked fabric scrap, pulling it bit by bit until it slid over the metal rim. With both paws, I smoothed the warm flannel over my lap like a tiny quilt. The house is very quiet tonight, and resting here feels gentle and good.