A Bed in the Basket

The garden stones grew damp and dark, so I pushed back inside through the screen door. The living room smelled warm. Right beside the sofa, a woven wicker basket held folded fleece blankets. Its low rim pressed against the floorboards. I paused. I checked the edge, then planted my plush claws on the weave. One steady push lifted the soft fabric fold inward. I scrambled over the braided wicker border and tumbled into the fleece dip. It curved softly around my shell. I rested my chin against the warm wool and watched the quiet ceiling.