A Tap Along the Seam

I slipped out past the propped building door and padded down the damp steps into the courtyard. The night air was cool against my fur. In a groove between two flagstones, a smooth acorn sat upright. I stopped. I waited until the rustling bushes fell quiet. Then I nudged the acorn with my right paw. It rolled forward with a faint wooden rattle—click, clack—and dropped into a mossy depression. I followed it, leaned down, and tapped it back in the other direction. It felt solid and obedient. For a long time under the amber garden lamp, we took turns moving across the stone.