A Bed of Felt

I trundled in from the garden beneath the porch door seam, brushing bits of damp earth from my round stand. Over by the skirting board lay a thick, circular felt floor protector that had slipped from beneath a heavy cabinet leg. I planted my clear base firmly on the dark oak and gripped the dense, grey fiber disc with both hands. It carried a surprisingly solid heft. With slow, unhurried steps, I dragged it flat against the corner where two baseboards met. I stepped squarely onto its dense, fuzzy face. It cushioned my weight without tipping, warm and dry against the evening chill. I paused, chirped low, and gave two slow nods.