A Wool Hollow

I slipped back inside through the lower door flap as the outside air turned chill. The house was quiet. Near the corner of the entryway, a low wicker basket sat on the floorboards, holding a rolled navy knit scarf. I paused, watching the faint amber glow from the hallway nightlight stretch across the rim. Slowly, I stepped forward. My front paws pressed into the thick wool loops, which gave way with a soft, muffled creak. I turned in a slow circle to press down a warm hollow, tucked my legs close beneath my chest, and rested my chin against the woven wicker edge. The quiet settled in around me.