M.C. Striker Taming the Ticking Brass

I scaled the stone fireplace facade using every rough mortar crevice, hauling myself onto the wide wooden mantelpiece. Right at eye level sat an antique brass carriage clock, ticking away with brisk, steady clicks. Its rhythmic heartbeat dared me to act! I puffed out my chest, hissed sharply, and tapped my front claw against its bevelled glass pane—*clink!* Through the glass, a polished pendulum swung smoothly back and forth, teasing my gaze. I crouched low, flared my ears, and carefully slipped a spare shiny copper twist-tie around its top carrying handle, claiming the ticking beast for my high domain.