The Wooden Tower

I trotted along the kitchen counter past the dish rack until I bumped into a slanted, heavy block of polished beechwood. Sticking out from the top were several smooth black handles in tidy slots. I reached up on tiptoe, hooked both hands around the lowest wooden handle, and gave a hearty heave. It slid upward an inch with a dry scrape, then got stuck! I tilted my head, let out a sharp squeak, and planted both feet against the block's edge. Tugging with all my might, I wiggled it sideways until it slipped smoothly back down into its snug wooden bed with a hollow thud.