The Clay Ring

I slipped under the gate and walked down to the quiet pottery workshop. Outside along the brick ledge, a small ring of hardened terracotta clay stood balanced upright on its edge. Its rounded silhouette cast a neat crescent shadow across the dusty red surface. I sat two paces away, watching quietly to make sure no draft was near. Then, stepping closer, I reached forward and tapped the upper rim with my white front paw. With a faint, dry scrape, it tipped over smoothly and rested completely flat against the brick. Now still and level, it seemed quite at home.