The Bronze String

An acoustic guitar was resting upright against the arm of the sofa, its polished timber body catching the pale morning light. I hopped close and paused, letting the stillness of the room settle around my ears. Reaching up with both front paws, I gave the lowest bronze string a gentle pluck. It vibrated with a deep, warm hum that echoed softly through the hollow wood. The subtle tremor tickled right through my plush paws. I held very still and leaned in close, resting my chin against the curved edge while the quiet note faded into the morning.