Night Shelf Cradle

I came back inside from the garden hedge, shaking the gravel dust from my claws as night wrapped around the house. The low walnut credenza was blissfully dim and quiet. Resting flat against the back panel was a smooth, heavy glass magnifying lens with a brass rim, left behind beside a stack of folded paper. Wanting its cool surface against my chest, I shuffled closer, but my foot bumped the edge of a forgotten wooden pencil. I tilted forward into an ungainly, clumsy dip. Without missing a beat, I sank into my wide, immovable squat and let my curved palms rise. The glass disc tipped neatly off the wood and settled squarely into my waiting hands with a clear clink, cradled steady while a long, peaceful trill vibrated in my chest.