A Soft Hollow

I climbed into the low wicker basket beside the bed. Inside lay a folded waffle-knit throw, cool on top but deep and soft underneath. I pressed my paws into the center fold, nudging the wool until it formed a shallow nest. Every small shift made the little brass bells at my wrists give a faint, clear chime against the yarn. I stopped moving and stayed completely still, listening as the gentle ring faded out into the quiet room. The hollow stayed warm around me.