A Knitted Hollow

I waddled over to the sofa where a thick, cable-knit blanket had slumped into soft folds. It looked like a tiny, gentle cave. I paused at the brim, letting my bill brush against the wool to make sure it was sturdy. It felt pleasantly chunky and warm. Slowly, I squeezed into a rounded hollow right in the crease between two cushions. A forgotten wooden button on the throw pressed gently against my side like a smooth little stone. Tucking my feet beneath me, I settled deep into the yarn, listening to the quiet ticking of the room as sleep began to drift in.