Too Much Fuzzy

I've been on a hunting trip to Louisiana with Fuzzy, and we had a blast.  It's always good to see kin, and being able to also see ducks was just icing on the cake.

We shared a room at the local hotel.  Not a great room, but comfortable enough with dual twin beds and a serviceable shower.  It's really all we need.

A couple of nights ago, I woke to go use the facilities as middle-aged men are wont to do.  Having done my business, I climbed back into my bed to resume my slumber, when Fuzzy reached out and touched me.

What the hell is he doing in my bed?

I cracked open an eye.  Was I in the right spot?  I had made a similar error many years before on a hunting trip and it was damned embarrassing.  No, I was where I needed to be.

Hey, wait a minute.  I'm home.  My bed partner is actually my wife.

Thank God.

I think it's easy to say I've seen way too much of Fuzzy these past couple of days.

Dorothy was right - there is no place like home.