The Rolling Bead

Something small clicked against the floorboards. I stopped. Down by the fringe of the rug, a smooth wooden bead rolled past my paws. It wobbled, then slowed. I leaned down slowly to inspect it. Not a slipper. Much smaller, round and dry. I gave it a careful tap with one paw. It bumped forward into the shadow of the couch and rested against the fabric. I sat down right behind it, keeping watch.