A Bed in the Sock

I was looking for my folded blanket mountain, but I found a soft wool sock dropped in the corner of the sofa. It had blue stripes and a wide, floppy opening. Is this an empty sleeping bag? I waddled close and poked the edge with my round base. It gave a squishy crinkle. I wiggled my bottom right into the soft woolly hole. It was very dark and warm inside, smelling like clean laundry and feet. I poked just my googly eyes and tall hat out over the stretchy ribbed cuff. It hugged my wooden tummy so tightly that I could not tip over. I hummed one sleepy note, and the sock made it sound all muffled and cozy.