Royce opened one lazy eye and peered around the room to get an idea of his whereabouts. He had passed out on his back in the middle of the living room floor sometime in the past few hours, he determined. The plate of pizza was still on the coffee table, just where he had left it. He rolled over and tried, hopelessly, to push himself to his feet. The first attempt was a sure failure, and so he lay there for five more minutes, deliberating whether to try to stand back up, or to drift back into slumber. He had had a tough afternoon, after all; digging about between the couch cushions looking for old scraps of food, and pondering, for some time, about what his toes might look like these days. He pushed himself slowly to his feet. 'That's two push-ups today,' he thought. He swatted at the flies buzzing around the pizza, and took a bite. Cold. Stale. Just the way he liked it. A sudden rumbling in his bowels made him freeze. Given the length of the vibrations, he knew it was one of two things: A) his stomach was imploding, or B) he had to use the bathroom. He took a wild guess and went for the bathroom. He could have gone anywhere on the floor without remorse, but he felt especially polite today. His monstrous feet pounded down the hallway, and he pushed open the door with his face, without even knocking. After settling himself in his upright position, his eyes became heavy, his vision blurred, and he passed out in the litter box. Oh, to be a cat.
(I know it's way over the word count, but I couldn't stop... I... I'm so sorry!)