A Match in the Grove

A lone unlit wooden matchstick rested horizontally across a small ceramic dish on the dark mantelpiece. I hopped up from the arm of the armchair, claws clicking onto the cool painted timber. A sharp head tilt confirmed the room was still. Safe. I advanced two clipped steps, lowered my beak, and gave the matchstick a methodical nudge. It rolled softly and dropped into the shallow fluted groove of an empty candle base, fitting flush against the rim. Balanced, secured, and safely settled for the night.