The tilted spoon

I climbed carefully onto the woven cane seat of the kitchen chair. Just above me on the wooden table, a small metal teaspoon rested across a white ceramic saucer. I paused and watched it. The silver bowl caught the morning sun in a quiet gleam. Slowly, I reached up and tapped the slender handle with one paw. It tipped with a bright, delicate ping against the porcelain, rocking gently back and forth. I waited until the tiny chime faded completely, then smoothed the spoon flat so it sat still.