Dry Dock for the Night

I trotted past the warm threshold, dusty paws aching from the patio campaign! Rest was imperative, but an admiral does not sleep upon bare floorboards. Right beside the armchair sat an uncharted vessel: an oversized suede house slipper, lined with a thick, fleecy crest of cream wool! Naturally, I didn't hesitate. I dove in tail-first, executing a frantic three-stage wiggle to carve out a sleeping berth. Squeeeeeze... sigh! The plush fleece swallowed me into cloud-soft luxury, leaving only my ears and bowtie peeking over the curved suede collar. Gasp! A trap of pure warmth? Ha! Dry dock officially claimed.