The Warm blanket

My legs were still stiff from chasing that ball, so I climbed up to the highest ridge of the couch. Between two cushions, someone left a thick knit blanket bunched into a small hollow. The afternoon sun had baked the wool warm. I circled the rim once, testing the depth with a cautious front paw. The yarn yielded softly without sliding. I stepped into the dip, turned around twice, and let my body sink flat into the wool. The sun barely moves up here. That is enough effort for one day.