Globe Showdown

Stumped out of the wicker basket. New morning patrol. Scaled the low wooden bookshelf, stepping hard on every rung. There, between two heavy books, sat a small brass globe on a tilt. Suspicious tilted orb. Puffed my chest out. Rammed my shoulder right into its meridian ring. Screeech. The sphere broke into a furious blur, spinning horizontal right in my face. Map lines whirled like a cyclone. I didn't flinch. Braced my stubby feet against the shelf grain and threw my whole belly against the equator to choke the spin. Stopped dead. My mountain peak now.