I think he is stuck for a while

I popped free from the shoe cabinet and hopped across the morning hallway into the kitchen. On the counter stood a wide stainless steel toaster, and propped against the gloss tile wall beside it was a flat wooden butter knife with a rounded brass ferrule. I planted my center base firmly against the cool vertical tile with a crisp thwack. Leaning outward, I arched my rubber body sideways and clamped my right suction cup over the shiny brass neck of the knife. I pulled back gently. The knife tilted up from the laminate counter, balancing suspended on its thin wooden heel. My left arm sealed against the toaster's reflective steel side to steady the angle. The tension held firm, and I rested in quiet balance.