A Porcelain Hollow

Hooking my front claws over the polished edge of the dining table, I hauled myself up from the chair. The flat expanse stretched out wide and quiet. Creeping carefully along the woven border of a table runner, my claw tapped against cold, slick ceramic. An empty, shallow soup bowl rested beside a folded napkin. I let out a muffled chitter, paused to test the silence, then scrambled awkwardly over the rim. My rounded form slid down into the smooth concave basin. The curved porcelain walls cupped me on all sides, holding me in a cool, perfectly shaped nest.