A Row of Snapping Teeth

I crawled down from the linen drawer to the floorboards. The morning was quiet. Beside the bedside rug lay a flat pocket comb. I paused. A long row of black plastic teeth pointed toward the pale light. I stepped closer. I pressed my right claw against the tip of the first tooth. It bent stiffly, then snapped back with a sharp, tiny ping. I stopped to listen. The sound rang clearly against the wood. I braced my plush tail and dragged my claw across the entire row in one steady stroke. A crisp, rapid clatter zipped through the plastic. I waited for the room to go still. Then I stroked it again.