The Wool Cave

I crossed the wooden threshold back inside as night settled, heading toward the shadow beneath the armchair. A thick, ribbed woolen scarf had slipped from the cushion above, pooling in heavy folds across the dark floorboards. I took two slow paces forward and pressed my nose under the bottom crease. With a firm, patient thrust of my front feet, I wedged myself under the fabric. The heavy knit arched over my shell like a low tent, muffling the quiet room and sealing in a pocket of warm air. I pulled my feet inward and rested against the soft yarn.