Joe knew a couch he was fond of. He felt a little odd about being fond of it, but he talked to it enough that he couldn’t quite help himself. It belonged to his baseball coach. The man took it everywhere with him, and firmly believed that it was sentient, holding conversations with it and even going so far as to be offended if someone talked to him and ignored the couch. Apparently being sat on didn’t bother the couch, though, because the coach always brought it to practice, and most of the time could be found sitting on it while he coached the baseball players.
It was a nice couch, over all. Unlike the coach, it never yelled at him and the comments that coach sometimes relayed from it were often kind, or wise observations on baseball. It could be rather sharp worded when a player was messing up, though. Joe thought maybe it was a bit strange that a couch knew so much about baseball, but rationalized that it did belong to a baseball coach, after all, and probably coach had picked out the couch based on its enthusiasm for the sport.
[Yes, folks, I know it’s only one letter of difference between the two, but the coach and the couch are rather different entities. Even if they are both obsessed with the same sport.]
Calypso Logr 