A Test Run

I crouched beside the wooden chair leg. The marble sat heavy inside the matchbox carriage, weighing the line down just enough. I waited... listening. Stillness in the hall. Slowly, I reached out one blunt plush paw and pressed against the back edge of the cardboard box. A deliberate push. The little carriage glided... quiet friction along the nylon cord. It traveled all the way toward the brass washer anchored at the vent, stopping with a soft, dry click against the grate. It works. The line carries true.