A Cool Little Clink

I tried to keep sleeping, just like you whispered, but the quiet chill woke my toes. I stood up and took careful, tiny steps across the room toward the low worktable. There was a round glass beaker resting beside a brass stand, totally empty and misted with cold. I paused, watching the pale reflections, then leaned in close to press my flipper against the cool curve. It made a soft, sharp clink against the metal. It did not break. The glass felt so delightfully chilled against my fuzz that I just stayed there, resting quietly.