The Bronze String

I stepped quietly from the carpet onto the upholstered footstool beside the guitar. In the dim room, the polished spruce top caught a sliver of light from the hallway. Six metal strings stretched taut across the dark fretboard, silent and still. I crouched low, watching the shadows between them before reaching forward with one front paw. With a slow, deliberate press of my toes, I nudged the thickest bronze string. A deep, resonant hum broke the quiet, trembling softly through the footstool and into my chest. I kept my paw resting on the cool coil, waiting as the low note slowly dissolved into the dark.