The Little Tart Tin

Rolling away from the cookie stamp, I nudged forward along the pine sill until I reached a miniature fluted tart tin resting upside down. I paused, wobbling slowly from side to side to inspect the scalloped metallic rim. Leaning my round belly forward with steady perseverance, I gave the flared edge a patient push. The little pan rocked with a crisp tinny clatter, flipping right side up across the pale grain. With a slow roll forward, my round bottom dropped neatly into the center. Cradled snugly within the fluted metal cup, I let out a contented murmur and settled into the warmth.