Not a Snack

I charged straight across the floor because I saw five pink fleshy things wiggling under the coffee table. Delicious fingers! I opened my trap wide and clamped down with full power—only to get a mouthful of dusty, repulsive wool. It was just a stupid dropped striped sock! I spit out fuzz and kicked the rotten thing across the rug, but it flopped right back onto my foot like it was mocking me. You think that's hilarious? I'm still hacking up lint!