Docking Station

The evening air outside grew cold, so I ambled back along the pavement and slid under the front door crack. Beside the hallway rack sat an oversized, sheepskin-lined winter slipper, mouth wide open and vacant. An obvious docking station. I aligned my base with the padded opening and let my weight tilt forward. Foof. I sank straight down into the dense fleece hollow until only the upper horns of my crown peeked over the collar. It gripped my plush sides like custom molding. No shifting, no drafts. Perfectly insulated. I remained wedged upright in the wool and let the house go dark.