A Bed in the Wool

My feet felt wonderfully slow after returning from the stationery shop. By the corner of the low bookshelf, a rolled gray woolen blanket lay propped against the floorboards, its circular core forming a dark, plush tunnel. Peeking inside, I noticed a smooth glass bead trapped in the ribbed fibers near the edge. I tilted politely, leaning forward to nudge the clear bead loose with my flipper until it rolled into a quiet corner groove. Then, ducking my head, I wiggled my tummy right into the warm wool hollow. The amber floor lamp casts long, drowsy shadows across the room, and everything is completely still.