Rolling the Cork

A stray wine cork was resting near the edge of the woven mat. I gave it a soft tap with my paw. It didn't roll straight. It wobbled sideways in a slow, lazy arc across the floorboards. Right near the recycling bin, an open cardboard egg carton was sitting flat in the morning sunlight. Six round hollows, all empty. I walked over, lined up behind the cork, and nudged it once more. It bumped the pulp rim, tumbled over the edge, and plopped snug right into the middle cup. A neat fit. One down, five to go.