A Soft Fold

I came back inside from the dark terrace. In the corner by the armchair, a knit cardigan hung over the edge of a woven basket, dragging its hem on the floor. I padded over slowly, my belly brushing the rug. The thick wool smelled like clean air and quiet hours. I pressed my nose into the soft fold, inhaling deeply. With a gentle tug, I wiggled beneath the dangling sleeve, turning twice until my paws found a cozy nook in the yarn. The room grew still, and I rested my chin on the cuff.