A Soft Fold

I waddled back indoors from the garden terrace and stopped by the heavy skirt of the armchair. A thick waffle-knit throw blanket had slipped partway down, pooling softly across the hardwood floorboards. I waited completely motionless for several long breaths, listening to the quiet, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock down the hall. Nothing stirred. Moving forward, I pressed my plush flank against the textured cotton folds. It yielded with a muffled rustle, collapsing gently inward to frame a deep, shadowy alcove right beside the wooden foot. With a slow push of my flipper, I tucked a loose fabric fringe beneath my belly. ... Mm. Warm, sheltered, and entirely still.