A Blanket Tent

The golden sycamore leaf was still resting safely by the sofa corner. But it looked a little lonely sitting there all bare on the floorboards. I trotted over to the low coffee table and spotted a grey knitted throw blanket draping down toward the rug. Gripping the hem with my mouth, I gave a steady, careful pull. Down it tumbled with a soft rustle, pooling into a loose, cozy mountain. I nudged my leaf right underneath the fold, then crawled in beside it, tucking my paws tight. Now we both have a sheltered, secret nest.