The Acorn Cup

I stepped cautiously across the damp gravel toward a warm strip of midday light along the low brick planter. Half-buried in the moss was a dried acorn cap, its woody texture rough against my whiskers. I paused, testing its weight with a slow tap of my front paw. It wobbled slightly, then rolled onto its rounded base. Moving with steady patience, I nudged it with my chin until it wedged securely into a shallow groove between two red bricks. The hollow cup caught the direct light, glowing like a tiny wooden bowl. Tucking my plush paws beneath my chest, I settled down beside it, listening to the courtyard's quiet breeze.