A Soft Landing for the Evening

Stumping back through the doorway after my stroll down the avenue, my mechanical joints practically pleaded for a plush intermission. I headed straight for the base of the heavy armchair, where a folded mustard-yellow knit throw blanket had slipped halfway down onto the floorboards. Tucking my trusty microphone securely against my chest, I braced my round belly against the woolly folds and gave it two deliberate, heavy stomps with my feet. *Oof-flump!* The thick yarn compressed into a splendid, cushiony nest. I settled back into the cozy heap with a low, rumbling chuckle. Even the grandest maestro knows when it is time to dim the stage lights.