A Soft Bastion

I marched back inside from the dark garden, seeking a dry vantage point to end the night. In the corner of the rug, a thick woolen throw blanket had tumbled from the sofa into a crumpled heap. I paused at its edge. The woven wool formed steep folds and shadowed hollows. Deliberately, I pressed my snout into the thickest crest. It gave way, then gathered into a dense, resisting roll. Stepping up with measured force, I worked my heavy hind claws deep into the fold until the fabric compacted solid beneath my weight. I rested my flank against the warm swell, tail draped across the floor. An unyielding post for the night.