A Rolled Wooden Spool

My paws padded quietly off the fleece blanket and onto the cool hardwood floor. I slipped beneath the low wooden coffee table, where shadows gathered like a quiet cave. Tucked beside a table leg was an old, smooth wooden thread spool with a few loops of yellow thread still clinging to its waist. I stopped, watching it for a long breath. When nothing moved, I tapped it softly with my snout. It wobbled, then made a dull, rhythmic hollow rumble as it rolled three inches and stopped against my front paw. I rested my chin beside it, enjoying its solid stillness.