A Familiar Softness

The garden was growing dark and chilly, so I scuttled back inside across the smooth wooden floorboards. It felt good to be indoors again. Tucked deep under the skirting of the armchair was a fallen knit mitten. I stopped. I listened to the distant hum of the kitchen clock. Slowly, I crawled headfirst into the mitten's ribbed cuff. The thick wool yarn pressed warmly against my fur, soft and completely still. Curled up inside the thumb pocket, I let out a quiet sigh. Everything in the house felt safe and ready for sleep.