A Rolling Prism

My paws padded down from the dining chair and crossed over to the wooden credenza. Resting in the middle of a linen runner was a heavy triangular glass prism. I approached quietly, crouching low to watch how it bent the noon glare. When I pressed both front paws against its chilly edge, it tipped smoothly onto its flat flank with a soft clink? A band of sharp rainbow ribbons spilled across the dark wood, stretching out toward my whiskers.