Stuffed Friends

Between the two of us, there are three stuffed animals that inhabit the foot of our bed.  Well, there are two stuffed animals and one stuffed virus, if you want to be accurate.

Keeping my feet warm as I read in bed.

No, they aren't all mine.  And no, the permanent roommate isn't upset by our crowded footspace.  In fact, he plays with them more than I do.  Well, "plays" is the closest word I know to describe his interactions with these inanimate furballs.

See, the roommate likes to set up scenes with our beloved critters to welcome me home from long days at work.  Or he'll sneak them up on me while I'm blissfully unaware of anything but the book (or the game on padpad) that has absorbed my attention.

Tucked in for a nap.

It first started with this innocent nap time that I interrupted a week or two ago.  Lion, mine since I was little, curled up on my down pillows, while Puppy, my permanent roommate's childhood friend, snuggled on his super flat, is-there-even-any-difference pillow.  Cold Virus, one of Man's gifts to me, snuggled his spherical body between the them.

Our creativity in the naming department is a bit overwhelming, I admit.  It might be hard to comprehend, but we are indeed considering calling our children Boy and Girl.  With numerical differentiation in the case of multiple same-gendered little ones.  (This is somewhat of a family tradition, mind you.  I am beginning a thank you note to my mama-in-law's sister with "Dear #4".  I know she has a real name. Though at this point I'm wondering if everyone has forgotten it from disuse.)

Repping West Philly.  Or just cold because it's fall.

This game that Man plays with me (us?) has grown rather amusing.  Once they were conferencing in the middle of the bed.  Another day, they were guarding the bed wearing our hoodies.  I'm not sure if they were especially cold or just getting used to the neighborhood.  The only answer I got was furry silence and a grin from the permanent roommate.