A Wooden Spool

I slipped inside from the porch as evening settled in, padding softly into the dining room. Standing upright on the floorboards beside the sideboard was an empty wooden thread spool. I crept closer and tapped its rim with one front paw. It tipped onto its side and rumbled softly, rolling in a slow arc across the polished wood. I hurried forward and pressed my chest firmly against the cylinder, halting its glide just before it could slip into the dark gap beneath the cabinet. The grooved wood felt smooth and cool against my fur.