A Soft Hollow

The shadows grew long across the floorboards, so I wandered past the tall potted plant toward the corner armchair. Tucked against its wooden leg sat a low, woven rope basket. I reached up and peeked over the rounded edge. Inside lay a loose fold of thick, waffle-knit wool, dipping down into a gentle hollow. I climbed carefully over the rim. The yarn gave way beneath my paws with a quiet, yielding sigh. Tucking myself deep into the curve of the fabric, I watched the evening dim the ceiling above. It felt safe, secluded, and perfectly still.