A Midnight Rest by the Velvet Stool

I trotted inside after the dusk air had chilled the courtyard, seeking a familiar, sheltered hollow near the hearth. Beside the low wooden base of the armchair, an embroidered velvet footstool stood on four short turned legs. Beneath its curved rim lay a stray woolen tasseled fringe that had slipped from a cushion. I halted two paces back, inhaling the dry, comforting aroma of wool and cedar floorboards. With patient vigilance, I lowered my muzzle and pressed the heavy silk tassel flat against the wood. Stepping into the shaded hollow under the stool's edge, I settled my legs under me and let out a long, quiet snort.