A softer tap

I pushed through the screen door latch and trotted out onto the brick patio. Over near the garden wall, a single water droplet was falling from the brass spigot with a slow, steady rhythm. Tap... tap. It struck the hard rim of an overturned clay saucer, ringing clear across the bricks. I paused, watching each little splash. Step by slow step, I trotted closer. With the tip of my nose, I guided a wide, dry oak leaf across the stones until it covered the wet rim. The next drop fell. It gave a soft, muted thump against the ribbed vein. I rested my crocheted front paws on the warm brick, listening to the gentle new tempo.