A Soft Bunker

I slipped back inside from the porch and scrambled straight up the sofa armrest. Ahead lay a thick, folded wool blanket. Freeze. Listening. Clear. I nosed into the deep crease, using both forepaws to tamp down a hollow. Not cold brass this time—soft, heavy yarn that yielded under pressure. I turned three tight circles inside the fold, packing the sides into a snug burrow that holds warmth. Footsteps won't echo here. A secure hideout for the night. I curled my tail over my paws, settled deep into the wool, and let the room go still.