The Softest Snore

The thrill of the game, the glorious, giggling pursuit of *not* being found, had been the most exciting thing Roary had done all day. He’d wriggled and jiggled, squeezed and squished himself into the most wonderfully, wonderfully tight spot he’d ever known. It smelled faintly of old leaves and… was that a hint of forgotten biscuit? Roary’s whiskers twitched. He’d been so busy being a master of disguise, a shadow in the undergrowth, a forgotten puff of dust, that he hadn’t even noticed the playful energy that had been buzzing inside him like a trapped firefly starting to dim.

His little tiger heart, which had been thumping a frantic rhythm against his ribs, began to slow. The last few giggles, tiny squeaks of pure, unadulterated fun, had escaped him a while ago. Now, a different kind of sound was starting to bubble up, a soft, sleepy rumble that vibrated deep in his chest. It wasn't the loud, rumbling purr of a happy, awake tiger, but something much, much softer. A snoozy, drifty kind of sound.

Roary’s eyes, which had been scanning his surroundings with the sharp focus of a seasoned explorer, began to blur. The world, which had been so sharp and bright just moments before, now seemed to swim in a warm, hazy glow. The rough texture of his hiding spot, which had felt so interesting and new, suddenly felt wonderfully soft and comforting. It was like being wrapped in the biggest, warmest hug imaginable, a hug that didn't require any wiggling or jiggling.