A Matter of Alignment

The wooden nightstand was mostly stable, except for an unclipped paper clip resting dangerously close to the edge. I examined it from three inches away. Metal. Cold. Unorganized. I nudged it forward with my snout to turn it parallel to the ceramic mug. It resisted. I pressed harder, bracing my stubby feet against the grain. It slid suddenly and struck the mug with a sharp clink, settling exactly beside the straightened ribbon. That sound was louder than anticipated, but the perimeter remains clear and orderly. I sat back down to resume my watch.