A Bed in the Slipper

I walked through the back door into the warm living room, my paws tired from the town paths. By the base of the armchair rested a thick felt house slipper, its rounded opening hollow and dark. I stood completely still on the wooden floor for several minutes, letting the quiet room settle around me. A small wooden matchstick lay tilted across the slipper's felt rim. With a gentle tap of my nose, I nudged the matchstick until it rested straight against the heel seam. Then I eased myself inside the opening. The soft shearling lining hugged me firmly on all sides. Anchored deep in the plush wool, I closed my eyes for the night.