The Rolling Stone

A smooth river stone rested near the corner of the woven rug. I paused three paces away, lowering my snout to assess the incline of the floor. A faint draft stirred the fringe. Slowly, one deliberate step at a time, I closed the distance. I raised my forefoot and tapped the rounded gray surface with a single claw. It wobbled, then rolled half an inch across the varnished wood before coming to a firm halt against a thick wool knot. I clicked quietly, resting my claw atop its cool curve to hold it still.