SIXTEEN - The Cool Factor

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December 27th 

I woke up early because Peterson was freaking me out. It's those eyes—the way he kept staring at me from the corner of my room. It was hard to go to sleep last night, and I kept waking up and turning on my light to see him standing there, his little raccoon fist in the air, fixated on me with those dazed eyes. At 2 a.m. I turned him, so he was facing the wall, but that made it even worse. I was worried that my moving him might be interpreted as an act of disrespect, so I moved him around again. I wish I'd never opened that woo-woo book. I mean, I'm starting to read "stuff" into everything I see now. It's kind of exhausting. Like, yesterday, a bird flew against the window, and was stunned for a couple of minutes, and I'm sure I read somewhere that that means someone in the house is going to die. WTF?

Anyway, back to Peterson. It's a little better now. I put my aviator shades on him, and it has helped quite a bit. Also, he looks pretty cool, so I don't think it's possible that I've offended him or anything. He might even be grateful. After all, he didn't have any say regarding which taxidermist Norm chose for his lifeless body. Maybe Norm could only afford the cheapest dude in town, and maybe Peterson's eyes really did come from the dollar store. Maybe Peterson wasn't "mounted" properly, either (That's what taxidermists call the whole creation process, even though it sounds kind of X-rated. They stretch skins over a wire sculpture thing). Anyway, maybe Norm couldn't afford the "mounting" and got Peterson stuffed old-school style with mouldy bits of cushion foam or something.

Anyway, all is good for now, I think. Pretty sure he is digging the shades. 

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