A Soft Return

The garden chill lingered on my fur, so I padded through the open door back into the quiet living room. A folded wool blanket had slipped down from the armchair, forming a soft, shadowed hollow on the floorboards. I paused by the rug edge, watching the still folds. Taking three silent, padded steps forward, I pressed my nose into the woven wool. It smelled faintly of dry cedar and warm indoor air. Gently, I turned around twice inside the dip, tucking my paws tight against my chest. From here in my warm den, I watched the dark room slowly settle into night.