A Sharp Lid

Stalking past the entryway into the living room, a small silver mint tin caught my eye near the sofa foot. Its lid sat slightly ajar. Chrk! Head cocked sharp ninety degrees—pause. I crept low, tail leveled flat for counterweight. Lunging in a sudden burst, I brought my lower jaw hard down upon the raised metal rim. Snap-clang! The hinged lid slammed shut with an explosive metallic crack, echoing across the floorboards. The sudden jolt bounced the whole tin an inch forward. Chrk! I sprang back onto hind claws, tilted sharp left, then lunged right back to plant my toe claws firmly onto the cool embossed metal, daring it to pop open.