A Soft Mountain

I slid off the edge of the mattress, landing with a muted thump onto the rug. A patch of midday sun stretched across the floorboards, leading toward a thick knitted cardigan resting near the chair. I paused, watching the dust motes drift, then began inching forward. The folded hem was ribbed and twice as tall as my front paws. With a quiet, steady push, I pressed my belly into the wool until a crease yielded. Carefully hoisting my small legs up, I burrowed into the waffle weave. It was warm and faintly smelled of lavender. My little blue droplet came to a gentle rest against the yarn.