The Unaccounted Pebble

Arthur Pumble approached the police desk, his face a mask of restrained concern. "I'd like to report a disappearance," he stated, adjusting his spectacles.

The desk sergeant, a woman named Miller with eyes that had seen far too many pigeons stuck in vents, didn't look up from her crossword. "Name of missing party?" she asked, her pen hovering over '7-Across: Feline's Foe (4 letters)'.

"It's a rock," Arthur clarified, and waited for the inevitable double-take. It never came.

Sergeant Miller finally looked up, blinking slowly. "Right. And its distinguishing features?"

"Roughly ovular, about the size of a medium potato. Mottled grey, with a distinct, silvery quartz vein bisecting it diagonally. A chip on the top left, from when it rolled off the coffee table during a particularly spirited debate about artisanal cheeses."

Miller nodded, jotting notes. "And the name?"

"Arthur. Like me. We've been companions for, oh, thirty-odd years. Since I found it by the riverbank."

"Any next of kin we should notify?" she deadpanned, without missing a beat.

"I am its next of kin," Arthur replied earnestly. "It's always been quite solitary. Never much for small talk, but an excellent listener. Very grounding, you know."

"Right," Miller said, finishing her notes. "Any suspects? Perhaps a rogue vacuum cleaner? A particularly ambitious dust bunny?"

Arthur considered this. "I'd wondered about the cat, Reginald. He's always had a suspicious glint in his eye, especially around unmoving objects. But he's more of a 'knock it off the shelf' kind of criminal, not a 'make it vanish' type."

"We'll put out an APB," Miller said, closing the report with a decisive snap. "All Points Boulder. We'll be sure to check the riverbanks, just in case it decided to return to its roots."

Arthur offered a small, grateful nod. "Thank you, Sergeant. I just have a feeling. It's out there somewhere. Probably just enjoying the scenery, entirely unbothered, as usual."