A Rolling Walnut

A dry rattle broke the room's evening hum. I descended from the low arm of the sofa, keeping my weight measured and quiet against the floorboards. Near the corner of the hearth rug, a lone walnut shell had rolled out from a decorative basket. I stopped two paces away, lowering my chest to watch it settle. It stayed motionless. Taking a slow step forward, I nudged the furrowed shell with the side of my front paw. It turned over once, revealing a smooth inner hollow. I rested my chin beside it, guarding the small prize in the dim evening glow.