Tussle with Dread the Sock

A dark, floppy shape lurked silently beneath the edge of the sofa—a tangled black wool sock I dubbed 'Dread'. My ear-flaps snapped alert, and I crouched low against the rug, tail swishing. Dread didn't move, but its sinister slouch provoked a sudden pounce. I leaped forward, wings half-spread, tackling the coiled menace head-on. We rolled across the carpet; I clamped my jaws lightly over its thick woven toe, kicking with both hind legs until the limp villain uncurled in total defeat. Letting out a victor's guttural rumble, I pinned Dread flat beneath my front paws.