The Fleece Bunker

I squeezed back inside from the chilly shed, completely beat and scouting out a proper place to crash. Right across the sofa, a thick charcoal fleece hoodie was slumped over, its wide kangaroo pocket gaping open like a warm tunnel daring me to enter. I didn't hesitate. I scrambled up the corduroy cushions, lined up my stubby feet, and dived straight into the opening. The fluffy fleece swallowed my round rind in an instant, shutting out the floor draft while I kicked a neat hollow deep inside the lining. I poked just my green leaf out of the hem to keep watch over the dark room. This bunker is claimed.