The Steady Needle

I climbed onto the walnut nightstand with slow, polite steps to establish my evening watch. Resting beside the reading lamp was a round, polished brass pocket compass with its lid clicked open. I approached the glass face with quiet curiosity. Leaning forward on steady paws, I gave the brass rim a gentle, deliberate tap with one claw. The slender blued-steel needle trembled, swinging in a wide, graceful arc before drifting to a neat halt toward the curtained window. I braced my sturdy tail against a smooth wooden coaster and straightened my posture, holding my ground in tranquil alignment with the steady arrow.