A Soft Mountain

I woke up in the quiet room and wandered toward the sofa. There was a knitted throw blanket left crumpled in the corner, forming a deep, shadowy hollow. I paused at the edge, touching the chunky yarn with one paw to feel how soft it was. Then I gently climbed inside. It made a perfect, secret cave where the morning light only reached in faint, warm slivers. I sat there for a long time, just listening to the soft ticking of the clock.