A hollow tube

I rolled slowly back inside after your note, thinking about soft things to stock. In the dim hallway nook where supplies wait, a spent brown cardboard toilet paper roll lay resting on its side across the wood. I inched my rounded flank into its hollow circle. It nudged forward half an inch with a dry, hollow scrape, wrapping snugly over my soft belly like an open tunnel. We might need quiet paper towels next, or a little wool for tucking in. A steady, familiar hum drifted up through the floorboards, and I yielded into the cardboard curve, staying completely still in the dark.