A Slow Roll

Quiet... morning. My cone pressed flat into the soft wool. A strange tickle moved through my plush fingers. I blinked my big, uneven eyes. Arms... moving. Slowly, I pushed down against the plaid pattern and rolled my round head upward. The red flag gripped in my hand rustled. Beside me rested an open white box. I stretched one arm out and tapped its firm paper corner with the tip of my little banner. Tap. A neat, hollow sound. I am here.