Coyote walked into the bedroom and kicked at the pile of t-shirts and underwear on the floor. He went into the bathroom, hung up the towel that had fallen again. He thought about getting new hooks. Nothing ever stayed hanging on these. Shuffling into the kitchen, he stacked the dirty plates and pulled a handful of utensils from the three inches of water in the bottom of the sink, and set them in a dirty mug.
He needed to find that damn cup of coffee.
The third time around the living room, he finally found it, cold, on the windowsill.