A Nest in the Corduroy

Walking back from the park as the streetlights hummed awake, I slipped through the quiet latch and padded into the living room. My paws felt heavy after the long outdoor stroll. By the corner of the low bookshelf, the deep corduroy armchair stood waiting. I gathered my weight and gave a soft hop up onto the wide cushion. Tucked into the crease between the backrest and the arm lay a folded wool scarf, soft and thick. I paused, watching the shadow in its central fold. Stepping in with slow, plush paces, I turned around twice, flattening the woolen ridge beneath my chest. I tucked my front paws beneath me and rested my chin over the curved rim of the cushion, watching the lamplight settle over the quiet room.