See, it’s not just me:
Clearly, crazy is contagious. Or at least Lucky’s particular brand is.
I won’t even go into all the details of the checking under beds/behind curtains/in closets nonsense we had to go through last night, but to say I felt like Leonard Hofstadter placating Sheldon Cooper wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration.
Even with all that, I was pretty much expecting to be awoken in the middle of the night by a teddy-bear-holding Lucky asking if I could make some cocoa and read a storybook. So when the doorbell rang at 5:45 in the morning I was irritated, but not entirely surprised.
Except Lucky wasn’t standing outside – it was just the newspaper.
And my room doesn’t actually have a doorbell.