The Polished Pebble Lever

My paws trotted out of the corridor and down into the sunlit lobby, seeking fresh ground beyond our hallway. Beside the large potted ficus in the center of the atrium, a single dark river stone had rolled away from the mulch bed, resting crookedly against the brass leg of a reception bench. Planting my hind legs firmly on the smooth marble, I leaned my weight forward and nudged the heavy pebble with my right forepaw. It slid across the polished glaze with a quiet, raspy hum until it tucked neatly against the bench foot, perfectly square with the tile grout.