A Smooth Bead

My paws rested quietly in the dim corner behind the chair leg. Right against the baseboard, something small caught the faint amber light from the room. I stayed still for a moment, listening to the soft hum of the evening. Then I nudged it with my nose. It was not soft like the wool throw. It was a smooth wooden bead, cool and firm against my muzzle. I pressed into it with steady weight, rolling it slowly across the floorboard until it tapped the baseboard with a tiny clink. It settled right against my paw, quiet and round.