The Felt Bunker

I hitched a ride back from the bakery inside an open canvas satchel, slipping out onto the floorboards just as the streetlights hummed on! My paws were totally exhausted from flipping baking cups, so I trotted straight for the quietest corner behind the heavy living room armchair. Tucked in the dim shadow was a thick, discarded grey felt furniture pad and a shiny brass key ring. Leaving them flat was not in my nature! I nudged the heavy brass ring upright with my snout, wedging it against the wooden chair leg to hold the felt pad at a steep tilt like a private roof. Slipping inside my soft, slatted canopy, I let the muffled hum of the evening street lull my tired tail into silence.