My Insomnia is in the Bag

Tuna’s getting whacky as my move date nears: He’s become fixated on plastic bags. The bigger, the better. Little sandwich bags are okay. Gallon-size sacks are better. I’m sure he senses my tension and is just amusing himself, but when he got into bed with trash a bag last night and proceeded to paw-pound it nonstop at 2 a.m., enough was enough. I put it under my pillow. He started digging to China to find his treasure. By 4 a.m., I finally got up and trashed it. He sleuthed it out, of course, so I gave up and stayed up.

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