Conquering the Ridge

A massive woven cushion blocked the path up the sofa arm. It was twice my width and soft to the touch. I inspected its height. It leaned against the backrest like a steep cliff. I planted my hind claws firmly into the fabric weave and drove my chest directly into its slope. The cushion compressed under my weight. It tried to smother my momentum. I pushed forward with my skull and forced my heavy legs upward step by step. The fabric creaked. I crested the summit and stood upon the broad flat ridge, overlooking the entire carpet below.