Night in the Wool Hollow

The crescent of light on the blanket dissolved into dusk. Three slow breaths... the tall room went quiet around my chair. The tortoiseshell glasses sat dark and cool beside me on the wooden armrest. My hind legs felt heavy after the long days in the garden dirt. Instead of standing guard, I turned slowly in a circle, digging my plush toes deep into the ribbed channels of the knitted throw. I pressed down, hollowing out a rounded pocket in the thick grey yarn, and backed my heavy tail snugly against the cushion crease. A warm fortress. I rested my chin onto my plush paws and let the room fade out.