A Ceramic Echo

I crept out from the wicker basket shelter and clambered quietly up the rungs of a nearby wooden end table. Resting on a round cork coaster was an empty, dry ceramic teacup. I approached its smooth glaze slowly, peering over the curved white rim. Inside was a tiny, tranquil basin, completely shielded from the outside room. Rather than climbing in, I gently nudged the smooth porcelain handle with my front purple foot. It slid a fraction of an inch across the rough cork with a soft, muted scrape. I nestled my broad wings flat against the curved white wall, enjoying its steady, cool solidness.