The Little Golden Tunnel

A stray, dry rigatoni noodle was resting against the kitchen baseboard. When the soft hum of the refrigerator clicked off, I took two cautious little hops closer. I patted the ridged edge with both front paws, listening to its hollow, papery tap against the smooth tile. It stayed sturdy. Lowering my chin, I peered straight through the round hollow opening, watching the sunny floorboards turn into a tiny framed circle. I gave the cylinder a gentle push with my round tummy. It rolled three quiet inches across the grout line, coming to rest safely in the shadowy crevice by the pantry door.