Night Retreat

I crossed the gravel from the fence line, mounted the porch steps, and slipped back inside through the screen sweep. Night was closing in. The garden perimeter was locked down, and my joints needed rest from the cold stones. Near the living room entry, a heavy patterned woolen blanket had slipped off the armchair, draping a warm fold against the baseboard. I approached and nudged the thick hem with my muzzle. Pliable, dense, and quiet. I backed my frame deep into the curved fold, resting my chin against the woven wool to keep a dry watch on the hall.