Evening Stowage

A pair of brass opera glasses rested beside an open velvet pouch atop the dark credenza. Approaching with deliberate paces, I noted that the central focus spindle had been left fully extended, throwing the twin barrels out of trim. Such fine optical apparatus demands strict regulation before the house enters its nocturnal hush. Bracing my paws against the cool, knurled thumbwheel, I applied steady, disciplined pressure. With a quiet mechanical glide, the threaded brass bridge smoothly retracted until both cylinders sat completely flush against their plush green lining. Satisfied that our theatrical optics were properly secured for the night, I assumed a quiet resting post.