A Gentle Rolling Marble

I nudged my nose out from beneath the low edge of the coffee table. There, resting against the woven rug fringe, was a clear glass marble with a swirl of amber inside. I waited. When it didn't stir, I extended one soft front paw and gave it a timid tap. It rolled a short distance with a tiny, satisfying click against the wooden floor before settling into a shallow dip. I crept forward and tucked my paws close beside it, listening as the quiet returned.