One Wrong Nap

After a long day of designing and sewing, Peter had deemed it appropriate to take a break for a nap. From his window, the view of warm-toned leaves dancing on the wind enticed him outdoors. The pile of leaves that had amassed outside looked... comfortable. Though he knew that leaves weren’t anything like a comfortable bed or couch, he was tempted all the same.

Who was he to deny temptation after having worked so hard?

Everything was considerably bigger in bun form, and in this situation it was for the better. It gave the leaves that much more cushion and that much more space for him to splay out. Dropping himself into the pile, he found that the majority of the surface leaves were more tender red leaves that had enough life in them to be a bit softer. The pile still crunched under the new weight. His ears twitched with an appreciation for the sound.

The air was crisp and cool. The atmosphere in Burrowgatory that day was... cozy. Not too bright, but not dark. The calls of imps were distant enough to not impede on his ability to relax. Instead, they joined the whistling wind and flowed into a rhythm all their own. Peter’s own lullaby as the gift of a nap faded out his consciousness.

The stem of a leaf bounced against his cheek, the crispness of a dry and curled leaf itched against his nose, and he could feel his back dangerously close to the ground proper. It was under these conditions that Peter woke up.

It was hard to say how much time had passed between his falling asleep and waking up, but all the same, he was awake now. It was certainly darker outside, but still not night yet. Groggily, he got to his hooves and tried to ascertain what had happened.

Turning to look at his former bed of leaves, he could see now where he had sunken through the pile - a bun shaped indentation - and could now tell that the wind had stolen a significant chunk of the pile.

That’s a bit rude, he thought to himself.

Despite being up, he still felt... itchy. He shook his coat, a few leaves fell out.

Still itchy.

Sighing with the loss of his napping spot, he returned inside. Passing by a mirror, he only then began to understand what was happening.

Of course, he was an angora. Longer, fluffier fur was the prime resting spot for the leaves that he himself had rested on. Now, he could see many of them embedded in his fur.

He sighed a long, exasperated defeat.

Peter rummaged around for his brush, wondering now how he could have forgotten about this. Even in doll form, he’d still have cleanup from his hair and ears and tail and even his clothes - how annoying.

I should’ve just napped in bed, he reflected as his brush immediately stopped at the tangled leaves. With a click of his tongue, he tried again. And again.

Eventually, he opted to just change into doll form - which was effective enough for most of the leaves, those where he no longer had fur, but it also allowed him to have more fingers with which to pull out remaining leaves.

It was sort of an annual struggle, having all these itchy leaves refuse to leave his hair and fur. His ears twitched in protest of the treatment, but eventually he was able to run the brush through properly, and couldn’t feel any trace left of the intruding leaves.

Perfect.

With that taken care of, he took a shower to get rid of the remaining itch that seemed to linger from whatever it was those leaves had on them.

“All better,” he mumbled to himself before dropping into bed. If he was going to work on sewing later, he’d have to get in some good sleep to recover from that leaf ordeal, after all.