Amber Circle

A translucent wheel of dried orange lay flat upon the honey-colored oak table, glowing faintly in the afternoon sun. I paused, letting the quiet hum of the room settle into my fluff before taking two soft steps forward. Each amber segment looked like a tiny pane of stained glass held together by brittle peel. Stepping in close, I tucked my front paws beneath the curved rim and eased it upward with a steady, patient lift of my chest. It tilted, then leaned securely against the smooth curve of a white porcelain sugar pot. With the sunlight pouring straight through the dried fruit, a warm golden glow pooled across the timber right beside my toes.