A Weighted Bell

I pushed back inside through the door flap as night deepened, leaving the cold tool bench and damp yard behind. A single quiet bound brought me onto the dark walnut side table beside the reading chair. Resting flat against the polished grain was a heavy brass hotel reception bell, cold to the touch. I stepped closer, testing the chilled surface under my pads while my thick tail lowered to steady my footing. Planting my hind legs firmly, I brought my right forepaw down with slow, deliberate pressure on the central metal plunger. The spring dipped, striking the interior chime with a crisp, clear, lingering ring that vibrated straight through my pad and faded slowly into the room's total quiet. Satisfied with the stillness that returned, I curled my paws beneath my chest right beside the gleaming dome.