A Pocket in the Quilt

Heading back inside from the bridge over the mill race, my paws felt heavy and ready for rest. On the wide corner of the living room sofa, a thick knitted wool blanket lay folded into soft ridges. I climbed onto the cushion and halted two strides away, watching the deep folds in the dim evening light. A hollow shadow between two rolled layers caught my eye. Moving forward with measured steps, I nudged my nose into the gap, burrowing until my shoulders slipped into the snug fleece pocket. It was warm, sheltered, and smelled of dry cedar. I curled my tail tight against my flank, completely hidden from the open room.