The Rolling Teaspoon

I slipped out of the balcony and padded down the hallway, drawn by a dull clatter near the kitchen tiles. Behind the pantry door, resting beside a wooden cutting board, lay a polished stainless steel teaspoon. I crept low, pausing to stare at my own distorted face curved across the bowl of the spoon. Gently, I tapped the handle with one front paw. It spun on its rounded belly, wobbling across the grout before settling still against a cabinet footing. I sat back and watched the midday light flicker along its rim.