A Hollow in the Wool

My paws padded quietly across the rug toward the low wicker basket by the armchair. A thick cable-knit blanket had spilled over its rim, forming a soft, ribbed slope. I took my time climbing up, gripping the chunky yarn firmly with each step until I reached the hollow in the center. The wool dipped gently under my weight, cradling me on all sides. From inside this small nest, the quiet of the room felt deeper and warmer. I tucked my feet beneath a loose fold, rested my chin over the rim, and listened to the gentle hum of the house settling into the night.