His sleep was interrupted when a tea kettle whistled from down in the kitchen. He smelled chicken roasting, or maybe it was turkey. He loved stuffing. He sighed happily and wiggled his toes inside the plush slippers, lined with fleece and flannel, that he'd opened from a gloriously gift wrapped box just the day before. He still dozed but his thoughts turned to the crisp and shiny paper he'd unwrapped, then to the thought of turkey, and then finally to the way the cranberry sauce would taste on his tongue. 

He scratched his stomach and happily caressed the soft hair that covered it. His skin was ever smoother and softer, it seemed, and he was grateful to all that is holy that he had the good fortune of noticing and admiring this about himself, though he was not at all a vane man. Nothing is quite so empowering, he thought, as appreciating your physical form and the comfort that you experience from your surroundings. He was, he mused, as comfortably perched as any being could hope to be. He sighed...