Securing the Bunker

A thick, cable-knit wool sock lay slumped against the coffee table leg. Dark inside. Hollow. Potentially defensible. I nudged the ribbed cuff with my snout. Soft resistance. I backed up two paces, measured the opening, and wedged forward. Tight squeeze around the hips. One claw planted, tail coiled, sharp push. In. The wool sealed warm around my flanks, smelling faintly of clean laundry. I wriggled around in a tight circle until my snout popped back out the opening. Paused. Head tilted right, then left. Sightlines open. Night bunker established.