Tiny lamp in night, A fleeting spark, a silent gleam, Nature's own lantern.

I am the footprint of a falling drop, growing larger long after it stops.

I twist as I rise and turn as I fall, A shape that keeps moving though staying small. Found in a shell or a staircase of stone, I curve through the air like I am being shown. I am not a circle, yet I share its grace, A path that keeps bending in the same little space. What am I, so winding and tight in my style, A shape that keeps turning with natural guile?

Where I come from is not where I'm from; I'm only around when my source is not found. I am most active when you are at rest; You'll say it's dark but I'm doing my best.

Since my spelling is questionable today, here is one even a kindergartner could spell correctly. What is small and furry with sharp teeth and nine lives?