My parents have a granddaughter named Ariel and my life got so much better when she came into it. Yea, she’s a cutie and all but, for a while, she was the perfect height to give “drive by” kisses to. She got smart though and when her daddy would drop her off at our house, she would make him hand her straight to my mommy but she eventually had to come down to my level. Despite her running away and shouting “no Drake”, I always got a kiss or two from her and she would giggle and we would have fun. 
See? Perfect height!
The bestest part of Ariel was the way she would take her afternoon snack over to the coffee table then proceed to become entranced in an episode of Scooby Doo at which time I would steal a cookie or two from her pile. This is one of the reasons I got the name Mr. Opportunity as I was always in the right place at the right time. If mom dropped a food morsel on the floor, I was ready on point to catch it before she had time to react. This held true for everything except sausage pizza which my mother had amazing retrieval skills when a piece of italian goodness would roll off her slice. My mom could move faster than Lassie to grab that errant sausage piece. Don’t worry reader, she washed it off thoroughly with hot water.
I feel bad for Ariel sometimes. She has been warned and scolded many times about not leaving socks, undies and other Drake favorites lying around the house. She is seven now but still forgets about my eating fetish. Her grandparents run around the house when she’s visiting taking inventory of her clothes and slamming the guest bedroom door shut. I am sorry to cause my family so much anxiety but I can’t help wanting to eat clothes.
I have my bad habits for sure but my favorite one that I will not apologize for is sitting or lying very, very close to my parents. I take over the couch or I lie on the floor on their feet. Yes, you heard it right not at their feet but on them so I can be touching them. I also would jump onto mom’s lap when she was sitting in a rocking chair. Yes, it was awkward trying to get turned around in that small spot then to get comfortable but that’s how I roll! If there was 6 inches between Dad and Mom, I would fit my body in that space and it’s amazing how small I can get.
Speaking of fitting into places, mom and dad haven’t slept next to each other in years. When that TV set turns off I run into the bed and lay down in one of their spots directly falling fast asleep. I’m talking a comatose level of sleep that, combined with my dead weight, makes me impossible to move. I top this all off with a bit of my tongue sticking out from my mouth and they cannot physically move or do they want to move the cuteness that is me. This is how I get the middle spot as they roll me towards the center of the bed. Lights go off, I put my tongue away and reposition my head on one of the downy soft pillows and don’t stir until morning to the sound of the birds chirping and mom yelling at me because I stole all her blankets. This is why they each have an “emergency” blanket. It’s brought out when all the covers have somehow ended up under me and, instead of pulling them out from my sweet slumbering body, they grab the old, small afghans for cover.
See all those old blankets on the bed? Mom and Dad can’t have a nice comforter with us around
When one of our parents is out of town, Daisy and I fight for the top spot. See, whoever gets up high gets the pillow and doesn’t smell all the farts that inadvertently get released through the night. It’s the bestest spot ever and, when I am top dog, I make sure to fart in Daisy and Hadley’s faces. The only better spot is the one Pixie gets as she lays on top of our parents. If I did that they would send me airborn! While mom and dad toss around at night, I use that open space to stretch out even more to where I'm fully extended. Mom is usually the one who wakes up in the middle of the night because she had no room left on the bed and she's lost all her covers....to me! I really don't mean to. Speaking of farts, when either mom or dad is out of town I get all nervous. I don’t quite understand the concept of leaving for days then coming back so I freak out a bit. As my parents will recount, I must hold in my gas because when the MIA parent finally returns home and to bed, I become a farting machine. Much like the practical joke ones but with stinky smells attached. Whoever didn’t travel will tell the other, “I don’t understand, he didn’t fart like this while you were gone”!!
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