A Magnet and Two Steel Washers

A narrow opening under the shed door gave way to dry cedar sawdust and dim afternoon shade. I scrambled up the crossbrace of the workbench, claws gripping rough splintered pine. Resting flat on a grease-stained cloth was a heavy horseshoe magnet. Clustered near its iron prongs were two silver steel washers. Alert pause. I cocked my head, calculating their grip. Leaning in low, I hooked one curved toe claw under the rim of the top washer. I gave it a brisk sideways pry. With a sharp metallic snap, it broke free from the magnetic pole, sliding two inches across the coarse grain before clicking firmly against my ankle. Tail level, I held my stance.