Return to the Hearth

The long concrete descent ended at our front door, which yielded to my deliberate push. Back inside the quiet territory, morning air felt still and sheltered. Across the woven rug, near the base of the deep armchair, a thick folded wool throw had slipped halfway to the floorboards, cutting off my familiar resting hollow. I planted both claws into the floorboards and drove forward with steady, unhurried mass. Dense fabric yielded under my chest, folding back against the timber leg. I settled low into the reclaimed recess, anchoring my tail and letting out a deep, gravelly breath. Solid ground.