The Glass Marble

I climbed the low stool to reach the wide breakfast counter. The morning sun sliced across the polished butcher block, catching an iridescent green glass marble tucked against an ceramic salt cellar. I lowered my chest, watching it closely. It did not budge. Extending one firm forepaw, I tapped the smooth sphere with a single claw. It clicked softly, rolling two inches before lodging safely in a shallow knife groove. I rested my paws over the groove, satisfied with my new post.