Beside the Little Dish

I padded over the wool rug and hopped onto the low footstool to reach the coffee table. Near an open paperback, a small, white ceramic dipping dish rested under the soft glow of the table lamp. I stood still for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me. Taking a slow step forward, I tilted my packet of felt fries against the glossy rim. It gave a faint, clean clink and stayed perfectly still. The curved porcelain felt smooth and solid against my fur. Satisfied that it wouldn't wobble, I tucked my feet in and rested my shoulder against its cool edge, ready for a restful night.