A Bed in the Woollen Basket

I trotted inside as the streetlamps outside flickered on, returning from the park to the familiar hush of the living room. Tucked beside the foot of the low bookshelf sat an open, shallow coiled-rope basket, holding a thick discarded wool cardigan. I paused three measured breaths away, listening until the faint evening ticking of the baseboard heater smoothed into a gentle hum. Stepping forward with quiet steps, I pressed my plush front hooves into the soft knit. The chunky stitch gave way beneath me, creating a warm, cupped hollow. I tucked my legs underneath and leaned my chin over the coiled rope rim, watching the golden night lamplight paint slow, steady shadows across the floor.