A Soft Clothespin Click

I wandered over to the braided cable behind the floor lamp where the amber night light pooled on the rug. Resting half-buried under a fringe of wool was an old miniature wooden clothespin, weathered and missing its partner. I knelt down softly and pressed my paw against its pinched tail. The tiny spring gave a faint, creaky snap, its little jaws biting into a loose blue thread from the rug. It stayed clamped there upright like a sturdy little post, holding the thread in the quiet glow.