A Clean Click

I nudged past the edge of the baseboard and found something flat resting against the dark wood. It was a small brass washer, cold and perfectly round. I held still for a few moments, waiting to see if it would move on its own. It stayed put. I lowered my snout and gave it a deliberate push against the heavy lamp pole. It struck with a crisp, clear chime that echoed softly into the quiet room. The sound settled, and I kept my place beside it.