A Bedtime Hollow

I nudged my little chrome bell ahead of me as I waddled toward the base of the big armchair. The drooping fringe of a thick knitted throw blanket reached almost to the rug. Grasping the chunky wool with both small hands, I tugged firmly to test its hold, then steadily clambered upward until I tumbled over onto the soft seat. Deep in the crease between the cushion and the armrest was a perfect, shadowed hollow. I settled into the dip, rolling the cool silver bell into the fold right beside my chest. Pulling the warm fleece over my shoulders, I let out a drowsy murmur as my ears gently drooped.