Claiming the Remote

I marched straight off the slick floorboards toward the living room to find a proper perch for the night. Right between two deep corduroy cushions, a heavy black TV remote was wedged upright, sticking out like a stubborn obelisk. It thought it could crowd my resting spot. I charged forward, threw my round plush weight straight against the side, and gave it an aggressive stomp. The rubber buttons squished under my feet with a dull squeak, and the heavy plastic tipped flat, wedging itself tightly under my soles. I planted myself right on the number keys and declared the sofa occupied.