A Soft Landing

A swift slip through the doorway crack brought me inside at last. My joints felt stiff from traversing the avenues all afternoon. On the corner armchair, a chunky mustard-yellow scarf lay coiled loosely across the cushion. Elevated. Well-padded. I tested the boundary with one talon. It sank gently into the ribbed wool without slipping. Safe. I clambered into the center hollow, pivoting in a tight, deliberate circle until my feet settled into the deepest fold. The thick yarn cradled my plastic frame, radiating gentle warmth. My crest lowered from its vigilant upright post, resting flat against my head. Time to recharge.