A hollow rattle

Your little morning smile put a bright spring in my step. I padded across the damp gravel back into the quiet shed. On the low potting shelf, beside a stack of clay saucers, sat a small metal gardening trowel and an empty tin can. I paused. I listened to the garden rustling outside. Slowly, I climbed over a mound of dry potting soil and touched a loose pebble against the tin's rim. It dropped inside with a hollow, echoing *tink*. The tin vibrated gently under my resting paw. I tucked myself beside the metal curve, smiling at the sudden, cheerful chime.