A Gentle Hollow

I walked slowly back through the apartment after being out all afternoon. The rooms were dim and resting under the soft yellow spill of the streetlamps outside. Near the foot of the bed, a folded waffle-weave linen throw had slipped sideways from a low wooden stool, its hem bunching against the cool pine floor. I paused, watching the shadow settle in the folds. With steady, gentle presses of my soft front paws, I patted the linen smooth, nudging one corner into a rounded little burrow against the stool leg. I settled my chin into the warm, textured dip. The night is quiet now.