A Silver Cache

The shadows deepened under the sofa fringe. Darkness calls! I slipped low, belly skimming the floorboards. Ahead, tucked right against the back leg... something gleamed! Not a trap. A loose metal washer, cold and heavy, half-buried under a dense knot of gray dust. With a sharp snap of my wrist, my hook dug under the rim. Skrrrrt! The metal scraped loudly against the oak board as I dragged it into my perimeter. Solid. Heavy. A proper trophy of the night patrol! I set my paw upon it, eye darting, claiming the prize.