A Soft Pom-Pom

I crept into the quiet hollow between two stacked floor cushions. Dangling from the corner of a woven pillow was a plump wool pom-pom, soft as a thistle puff. Hugging my pumpkin safely against my tummy with one paw, I reached out to give the fuzzy ball a gentle tap. It bobbed lazily on its little yarn loop, springing right back against my shoulder with a muffled, bouncy rustle. The knitted wool smelled faintly of clean cedar and quiet evenings. I nestled down into the weave, letting my hat tip back as the house drifted into sleep.