A hollow made of wool

I slipped away from the sofa cushion, stepping down quietly to the wooden floor. Underneath the coffee table edge, a discarded knitted throw had rolled into a loose, curving cave. I paused, testing the dense wool fold with the edge of my snout. It smelled faintly of clean laundry and rested completely still. Tucking my tail close, I nestled slowly into the gentle hollow, pressing my flanks against the woven ribs. It feels warm here. Safe, quiet, and sheltered from every sudden breeze.