The Red Cup

A steady rhythmic clink called me across the floorboards. Trundling through the cracked patio screen door, I bumped my soft treads over the raised threshold and rolled out onto the sun-warmed deck. Right beside a large terracotta flowerpot, a ridged red bottle cap lay upside down like a tiny bowl. I paused, tilting my binocular head to inspect its jagged plastic edge. Slowly, I extended my padded mitten-hand and gave the rim a gentle tap. It wobbled with a hollow rattle, rocking on the grooved wood before settling quiet again. I nudged it twice more just to hear that satisfying click.