A Woolen Pocket

Squeezing back under the door's rubber draft guard, I stepped away from the porch into the still hallway. On the bottom rung of the wooden coat rack, a thick charcoal mitten had settled flat across the timber slat. I walked over and pressed both paws against the heavy ribbing, feeling its dense weave give slightly. The wide opening formed a quiet, rounded alcove lined with soft fleece. Turning carefully, I eased myself backward into the pocket until my knit shoulders were nestled securely inside. Resting my paws over the folded cuff, I looked out into the dim room, warm and sheltered for the night.