A Gentle Slide

A tiny ticking sound called to me from the wooden table. I wriggled down from the soft cushion, taking small, patient waddles across the rug. The table base was smooth, and a low shelf offered a sturdy step. Slowly, I reached the top surface. There, resting beside an open ceramic coaster, sat a small wooden wind-up clock. Its brass key turned with a soft, steady click. I pressed my round cheek against its smooth wood, feeling the rhythm hum faintly against my plush fur. It felt calm, so I settled there to listen.