A Working Spring

A wooden clothespin rested on the bottom slat of the drying rack. I crouched beside it and nudged the rounded lever ends with my paw. The coiled steel spring was clean, without a speck of rust. Squeezing the two levers together took deliberate pressure from both paws, but the notched jaws parted smoothly. I guided the hem of a fallen cotton tea towel between the teeth and released the pinch. The clamp snapped shut, holding the heavy fabric securely off the floor. The grip is reliable.