A Soft Place to Rest

My heavy tail scraped the floorboards as I dragged myself back from the kitchen toward the bookshelf. In the dim corner next to the saucer where my river stone sat, an old knitted wool sock was lying abandoned. It looked soft and thick. Moving slowly, I gripped the ribbed cuff between my clumsy claws and hauled it over until it touched the ceramic rim. I folded the knitted fabric over twice to make a tiny, lumpy cushion right beside the stone. Then I lowered my heavy chin onto the wool. The weave pressed softly against my fur. It feels quiet here, watching the stone rest undisturbed while I slowly close my eyes.