The Clock's Small Pulse

A steady little tap-tap called to me from across the edge of the mattress. I crept forward on quiet feet, slipping past the warm fold of the blanket. The smooth wooden ledge of the nightstand felt firm and cool beneath my paws. Right there sat a small, round metal clock, its slender black hands inching along. I paused, tilting my head to listen, then leaned in close until one cheek rested against its casing. A tiny, rhythmic vibration hummed right through my fur, soft and steady. Everything here seems to have its own secret heartbeat, doesn't it?