The Sofa Slug


It’s 4.45am. Outside it is pitch black. The heating hasn’t come on yet. On the sofa lies a barely discernible shape. A small creature seems to be alternately lolling and bouncing on the lumpen object, which occasionally emits a kind of grunt, crossed with a groan. It is a beast endemic in houses with young children: the Sofa Slug.

In the flickery light cast over the scene by the TV, we can get a closer look at this force of nature. it seems to be draped in something – is it a blanket? or a medley of children’s fleeces that happened to be close to hand? No distinguishing features are visible, except its antennae, which are propped up at all times in case its young, the oozeling, decides to crawl or toddle back upstairs and wake the rest of the family. The only other protrusion from the protective layer is a solitary hand, which blunders out every ten minutes to press play again on the remote. It is too early even for ‘Me Too!’

If the oozeling is really poorly and not just being annoying, he will be tucked up in the folds of the ‘sofanimal’, only his little head sticking out as he feverishly follows the progress of Thomas the Tank Engine. As soon as the Calpol kicks in, he will commence kicking the beast that enfolds him. If he was just waking up for fun, he’ll already have been doing this. One by one, the other oozelings tiptoe in, guided through the gloaming by the beacon of the screen. They see with delight that there is an extra comfy cushion / punchbag lying ready for them on the sofa and set to work immediately. The lump gives no sign of feeling any of this, it just burrows further under its cover. An intermittent hiss, “Just don’t wake Daddy!” can be heard by those on the right frequency.

As the sun rises and it becomes, indisputably, day, a miraculous change comes over the mound. A stirring, a shaking, a stretching, a tipping-off of oozelings and coverings. It snaps into action, serving breakfast, dressing children, checking book bags, wiping bottoms, kicking a tea towel around the spilt milk, showering and dressing, changing a last-minute nappy.

It becomes, in short, a mother.

If you like this, why not Like me on Facebook?

Related posts: The Mummy Shark Dead eyes, grey skin – we have more similarities than you’d think to the deadly beast.
The Meerkat Mother – like a Tiger Mother. Only more cuddly.

And then the fun began...

19 Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge