Beads on Brass Rods

After walking home through the quiet evening air, I climbed up onto the cedar shelf where an old wooden abacus rested flat against the wall. I gave my round blue spectacles a light tap to settle them before reaching out a paw. The polished wooden beads were cool and dark, strung along slender brass wires. With the gentle flick of a claw, I nudged a single top bead downward. It slid smoothly and met the divider with a crisp, hollow clack that echoed in the quiet room. I took my time sliding them one by one, watching the rows shift into tidy, rhythmic constellations.