The apartment reeked of existential dread and leftover pizza. Mara stared at her laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard, as her golden retriever, Biscuit, performed a synchronized dance with a lone sock. The sock had been missing for three days—until now.
“You’re a menace,” Mara said, jabbing at the keyboard. Biscuit responded by launching the sock into the air, tail wagging like a metronome set to ‘panic.’ It landed on her monitor, sticking to the sweat spot near her third eye.
The doorbell rang. Mara opened it to a delivery guy holding a box labeled “Fragile: Handle With Care.” Behind him, Biscuit had discovered the art of sock-based acrobatics, juggling three pairs while knocking over a vase of daisies. The flowers hit the floor with a sad *plink*.
“Your package, ma’am,” the delivery guy said, eyeing the chaos. Mara grabbed the box, muttering, “I’m not even mad. I’m just… intrigued.” Inside was a ceramic koala that looked like it had been cryogenically frozen in a state of mild annoyance.
Biscuit trotted over, sniffed the koala, and promptly deposited a half-eaten sock in its lap. Mara collapsed onto the couch, which now smelled like old gym socks and regret. The koala stared back, unimpressed.
Later, as Mara sipped lukewarm coffee and Biscuit napped atop the koala, she realized life wasn’t about control. It was about learning to love the sock-shaped hole in your heart—and the dog who refuses to stop filling it with chaos.
