A Soft Rolling Nut

I crept beneath the edge of the low coffee table. It was dark, and very still. Something round rested near a table leg—a smooth wooden bead, quiet and dusty. I gave it a tiny nudge with my nose. It rolled an inch, tapping softly against a forgotten stack of magazines. I stepped back, tucking my paws in, and listened to the gentle click. It did not roll back, but it stayed right where I could watch it.