The Piano- My dearest friend

Most days I dwell in that crevice of these infernal creatures's abode near the end of the hallway. Often throughout the day, I squat and bide my time as they pass by. Their activities keep them preoccupied, but still I am too afraid to make any move. Several years ago they disposed of my dear friend the couch because he would get chatty even when they were present. He'd groan and creak whenever they got near, often letting out persistent wails whenever used. The new fellow is nice, but somber, and I'm wary of succumbing to the same fate.
 In recent years, one of the smaller of the nimble inhabitants has taken to spending more and more time with me, often sitting in front of me and jabbing at face for over an hour.  It stirs my insides in ways I haven't felt for a considerable amount of time, but it grew tiresome. Often it'll go at it in the same pattern over and over again and I get sore. I've taken to leaving my stool out further and further and delighting in its howls when it scrapes or bruises an appendage-the sweet music of vengeance to my soundboard.  Still my actions provides no lasting impact. The dents on my frame do not disappear the same way it's do, and the brute persists in it's assault upon me day in and day out.  When the building grows dark and all it's inhabitants lie still, oh how I long to creep down the hallway and inside that far room this biped inhabits, but I fear I'd make too much of a ruckus and be discovered before I could crush it's horrid body forever.