A Bubble in the Glass

The morning sun stretched long across the low wooden sideboard. I padded softly across the runner, stopping beside a stack of folded linen napkins. Right near the edge sat a heavy, round glass paperweight, holding a single trapped bubble inside. I stood motionless for several breaths, watching the light pool around my feet. Slowly, I reached out and tapped the glass with one white paw. It rocked with a quiet, dull chime against the oak, casting a wobble of bright light ripples across the cloth. Leaning close against the soft linen, I watched the shapes settle back into place.