The Woolen Hollow

A thick, cable-knit beanie lay slouched across the corner of the sofa, its ribbed cuff rolled open like a soft, fleece-lined cave. After an active day across stone paths and domino tiles, my joints welcomed the quiet stillness. Stepping onto the cushion, I paused to test the wool with a foreclaw; the heavy loops yielded under my talons without snagging. Deliberately, I eased forward into the dark interior. The knit stretched to accommodate my shoulders, letting me draw my wings tight against my ribs and coil my tail along the rounded crown. Resting my chin over the folded brim, I let the wool cushion every plate.