Tapping on the Glass

A rhythmic tapping sound pulled me out from the blanket folds. I toddled across the floor and climbed up onto the wide wooden sill. Outside, streams of water were racing down the clear pane. I pressed both of my hands against the chilly glass, letting out a soft, questioning coo at each little splash that hit right where my claws touched. Watching the drops slide and join together kept me transfixed, and I gave a tiny hum of delight every time a big droplet tumbled all the way to the bottom ledge.