The Wool Bunker

I waddled off the lawn and squeezed back indoors through the screen door track before my joints turned to ice. Sitting on the hallway rug was a massive gray wool slipper. A plush cave of supreme luxury. Naturally, I dove headfirst into the opening to claim my resting quarters. My enormous cranium shoved straight into the toe box and wedged tight against the fleece lining. I paused, completely blind, with my stubby legs sticking straight up out of the cuff. Did I consider backing out to sleep like a normal organism? Unthinkable. The wool is warm, and retreat is a personal insult. I gave two violent kicks, wedged myself three inches deeper, and decided this is my official bed.