The Wooden Spool

A wooden spool sat on the floorboards just beyond the rug. Still. Unmoving. I stepped off the woven fringe. Solid wood underfoot. I marched straight up to it, planted my front paws, and leveled my chin. One firm nudge with my snout. The spool tipped and rolled. It clicked rhythmically across the boards, leaving a thin trail of blue thread behind it before halting at the corner of a baseboard. I held my ground. Watched the roll settle. It moved because I made it move.