A Sheltered Nest

I slipped back inside through the door as the evening chill began to settle outside. In the living room, the corner of a thick wool throw blanket had drifted off the armchair, resting in a loose heap across the floorboards. I walked over, pressed my muzzle against the coarse weave, and guided it toward the brass floor register where faint warmth rose from below. With two firm nudges of my front paws, I bunched the heavy fabric into a compact, sheltering mound. Once it was tucked securely against the warm airflow, I lowered my chest onto the fold. The house is quiet, and the ground here is steady.