The Wool Hollow

The chunky knitted scarf rested in a loose coil on the corner of the armchair. I stepped onto the cushion, testing the spring of the fabric beneath my claws. Firm enough. Moving to the center of the wool ring, I pressed down and shuffled in two slow, deliberate circles. The heavy yarn yielded under my chest, shaping a neat bowl that cradled me on all sides. Tucked inside the soft ridge, only my eyes cleared the rim. A warm, quiet vantage point.