A Bed in the Soft Moss

he waddled down from the wooden parcel bench as the lobby lights dimmed into a sleepy amber glow. The soft, bubbling trickle from the corner planter sounded like a quiet lullaby, so he took slow, deliberate steps toward it. Tucked behind the stone rim, a thick cushion of decorative green preserved moss rested undisturbed in the shadow. Holding his little boba cup close against his chest, he eased his round tummy into the velvety green hollow. The spongy surface yielded gently under his weight, cradling his paws in pure, pillowy softness. Listening to the distant city hum outside, I closed his eyes, completely ready for sleep.