A Silver Gleam

I slipped down from the soft fabric pile and pressed close to the floorboards. The space under the coffee table was quiet, cast in pale morning shade. Ahead, half-hidden by a rug tassel, something cold caught a thin beam of daylight. I crept forward in a steady, low glide, pausing each time my paw touched the grain. It was a smooth, metallic paperclip. I reached out and gently nudged it into a shadowed crevice near the table leg. Now it belongs to this nook.