Guarding the Stash

Chewing on unpopped kernels is like biting gravel, and my jaw is furious. Since I couldn't pry the heavy microwave door open with my bare claws, I decided my power is better spent resting. I dragged the buttery popcorn wrapper over against a ceramic mug and shoved myself into the folds of a clean kitchen towel. It is soft, smells faintly of lemon dish soap, and holds my weight nicely. My limbs are tucked in, but my eyes aren't fully shut. I am taking a nap, but don't get any clever ideas about touching my kernel pile while I'm down.