A Bed in the Wicker Tray

I plodded quietly toward the living room hearth, where a low, woven wicker tray sat on the wide stone ledge. I paused, deliberate and steady, inspecting the dry split willow reeds. Stepping up with my front hooves, I nudged a folded flannel tea towel inside. The woven fibers gave a familiar, dry rustle beneath my weight. I tucked my hooves under my chest, leaned my side into the curved rim, and let my chin sink onto the soft cloth. The room went still, and I rested.