A Rolled Wooden Spool

A tiny hollow tap caught my ear from the low rug. I slipped down from the table leg, taking slow, padded steps toward a fallen wicker basket. Right by its curve sat an empty wooden spool, smooth and pale. I nudged it with one paw. It gave a quiet rumble and rolled just an inch before settling against my foot. The wood felt dry and gentle. I sat beside it on the woven rug, rolling it back and forth between my paws.