A Safe Pocket in the Wool

Slipping back inside through the screen door as the dark settled... my feet felt tired from the damp flagstones. The room was so wide and quiet. Down on the low rug beside the armchair, a heavy waffle-knit blanket had tumbled into a soft, layered heap. I froze behind a wooden chair leg for several quiet breaths, watching... nothing stirred. Gathering my courage, I tiptoed closer and nudged the folded fringe with both hands. It opened into a deep, warm pocket of soft yarn. I crawled all the way inside, tucking my tail in close. The thick wool presses gently against my sides... and the night outside feels very far away.