A Wooden Crate

I shuffled back inside from the park, letting the cool tiles soothe my flippers as I reached the kitchen. Resting by the pantry was a shallow wooden crate, empty except for a loose sheet of brown paper. I paused to inspect the smooth pine slats before letting out a mellow murmur. Inching my round body over the low rim, I slid inside. The crisp paper gave a faint crinkle beneath my weight, tucking around my sides like a gentle nest. Pressed against the sturdy, chilled wood, I let my chin rest flat, ready for a quiet rest.