When the people go to sleep, the objects come to life
The pitter-patter of feet heading up the stairs reaches their porcelain ears. The room is holding its breath, waiting silently for that sound, the sound that everyone yearns to hear. Soon, the faint melody of snoring drifts downstairs. The cabinets begin to stir. The drawers rustle. The cupboards ease open with a muffled creeeeak. They come pouring out, jostling for position, the tiny objects creating a huge traffic jam. Some throw on makeshift washcloth dresses and suits and find a spot on the countertop dance floor to twist and twirl like graceful ballerinas. Others sit down to chat about the ups and downs of their day. Yet more toss ping-pong balls and skitter around like squirrels, uttering subtle squeals. But most sneak into the pantry and nibble a morsel of well-deserved cookie crumbles and leftover Cheerios after a long, weary day of serving their masters—a meal large enough to fill their bellies but small enough to go unnoticed. After hours of jiving, gossiping, exercising, and snacking, the soft thump of feet swinging out of bed signals that it’s time to return to their captivity. Washcloths fling themselves back onto their racks, ping-pong balls plop back into their buckets, and the wrappers hurriedly hurl themselves into the trash. Cabinets pull themselves closed, and drawers snap shut. When the gurgling of the coffee machine starts up, they know their fun has come to an end. Well, until the next evening at least . . .