A Bed in the Woolen Muff

I trotted inside from the garden as the night deepened, finding our familiar spot beside the sofa. The fuzzy brown bear was already fast asleep, his heavy arm resting on the dark floorboards. Propped right against his hip lay an old, tubular fleece hand muff lined with thick lambswool. I nudged the plush opening with my snout until the fabric parted with a gentle sigh. Walking in on quiet hooves, I crept into the warm tunnel until only my nose peered out. Resting my chin against the bear's furry ankle, I let the quiet hush of the house wrap around me.