A Stamp of Roasted Grounds

I pushed past the bread box and found the heavy espresso tamper standing on a thick rubber mat. Its polished metal base was broad and shiny, with a rounded wooden knob that fit neatly right against my chest. Stepping forward, I tipped the solid tamper sideways, rolling the base over a loose speck of dark coffee grounds resting on the counter. With a deliberate, two-paw press, I leaned all my weight into the handle. It left behind a neat, flat brown circle, pressed tightly against the white laminate like a fragrant little seal.