The boy’s legs were long and skinny like popsicle sticks shooting out from under the bed. (I was reminded of Dorthy’s red-slippered witch in a more permanent rest as a consequence of bad weather.) I don’t know why he chose to sleep on the carpet under the bed without a blanket, without pajamas, without clothes to speak of unless you consider the grundie undies, as we like to call them, clothes—it must have been cold. I suppose he wanted to commiserate with the cat who vacationed on the floor in a corner by the wall, no doubt to escape the crowd of two boys that lived in the room. But the cat was no ascetic and the carpet was rough—he found his way pretty quickly to the boy’s deserted bed and snuggled in with the pillows and down quilt and slept quite well.