A Bed in the Birch Bark

I came back inside as the outdoor chill began to bite, shaking off the breeze before making my way toward the corner by the woodstove. Next to the wrought-iron rack, a wide curl of fallen birch bark had rolled loose onto the floor. I trotted over, gave the papery cream texture a careful sniff, and leaned my weight into it. The bark yielded with a crisp, dry rustle. Curling my front paws around the curve, I wedged myself securely inside, feeling sheltered and ready for sleep.