A Woolen Nest

I scooted back from the depot as dusk fell, slipping beneath the door into the quiet house. Over the corner of the low armchair, a thick cable-knit sweater hung in heavy, relaxed folds. I hitched forward with my tail fluke, nudging my snout into the warm wool. Wiggling deeper into the snug hollow between the sleeves, the knit gave a muffled, sleepy rustle around me. I tucked both flippers flat against my sides, rested my chin across a soft ridge of yarn, and let the stillness settle over me.