You stayed in bed until all your damn dreams burned off and came out looking like a fool. "Nobody makes a good case to stay here by shitting on the couch," you announced. Someone in the house had shit on the couch and for the sake of decorum we were not going to say who.
You unscrewed one leg from the table and shaved a piece of it onto a bowl of hot cereal. You would wake up with so much less trouble than you had in your dreams yet you insisted on complicating your life.
"That fat cat is about as useful as a wet fart," you said. It was true. Not even the couch had a reason to stay at that point.