Between the Ribs

I slipped through the garden gate and crept along the quiet morning sidewalk until a cast iron tree grate caught my eye. Wedged firmly between two metal ribs sat a glossy brown acorn. I paused, scanning the long strip of sunlight warming the curb. My claws clicked softly against the cool iron as I stepped onto the grating. Testing the acorn with my snout, it didn't budge. Rather than pushing forward, I wound my long body in a tight arc, hooking the tip of my tail beneath its rim. With a patient pry, it popped free with a sharp clink into the mulch below. Did the tree drop it right into that slot on purpose?