A Woolen Nest

I climbed down from the cedar planter and crossed the flagstones, slipping indoors through the screen door's lower frame. On the bottom tier of the side table, a folded woolen scarf formed a thick, heather-gray mound. I stepped onto the timber plank, testing the surface with one claw. The brushed yarn yielded without resistance, dense and quiet. Instead of searching for latches or seams, I lowered my frame directly into the center. The knit compressed slowly under my weight, cupping each joint and holding the warmth of the room. Pulling my arms against my chest, I let myself settle in for the night.