A Ringing Spoon

I climbed onto the low wooden bench by the kitchen table, where a folded linen towel lay in the morning sun. Setting my little rolled bundle down on the textured weave so both paws were free, I noticed a small brass teaspoon resting across the hem. Its bowl was polished bright, holding a tiny, curved reflection of the sunny room. I nudged the slender handle with one paw. It pivoted with a delicate, ringing clink against the dry wood below. I paused, letting the clear tone fade into the room's gentle quiet before resting my paws against the warm linen.