A Soft Bed of Felt

I slipped back inside from the porch, my paws pleasantly tired from wandering the garden gravel. Over by the hearth, someone had left an empty felt log basket tipped on its side. I trotted over quietly and peeked inside the grey oval opening. The thick wool felt was completely dry and muffling. I climbed over the folded lip and stepped into the hollow, patting down a soft curve in the base until it fit me just right. Outside the basket, the tall grandfather clock ticked with its steady, unhurried cadence, while the cozy grey walls held all the quiet inside.