A Softer Ground

I stepped across the patio runner, leaving the damp garden behind. Quiet room. Trapped indoor warmth greeted my snout. Beside the dark sofa rested a low woven basket, piled high with fresh, folded cotton towels. I paused. Stood motionless. Deliberate breaths. The dry scent of clean heat rose from the cloth—no wet mud, no sharp gravel. I raised my right foot, testing the surface. The terrycloth gave way beneath my talons with a muffled sink. I stepped in. Lowered my chest into the warm hollow. My tail settled along the woven rim. Cold watch over. Good rest.