A Small Brass Hook

I walked back inside from the sidewalk curb as the streetlights came on, padding across the quiet rug toward the armchair. On the floorboards near the wooden leg, a small brass hook from a picture frame lay forgotten. I stopped. I tilted my head to inspect its curved tip. Next to it was a stray strand of smooth baker's twine, looped loosely like a coil. Crouching down low, I held the brass piece steady with one paw. With the other, I guided the twine straight through the hollow eyelet. With a gentle tug, it drew tight against the metal with a soft clink. It lay tidy and still, resting beside the dark wood for the night.