Coming into Furniture
                 (In Which Michael Acquires a Cowch)


Soon  after  pondering  the  Couch  Problem, and doing some dispirited
market research, Michael receives a phone call from Amy.

"So, I'm moving to New Mexico,"  she  begins,  "You  want  to  buy  my
couch?"

"Umm, funny you should ask."

"I'll give you a great price, pretty much what it cost me."

"You  see  I  just  finished  writing my first story in years, and the
theme is my life through the eyes of furniture."

"How about $2000?"

"Isn't it . . .  I mean, when I sat on it I thought it was . .  .  you
know, itchy.  I'm supposed to get comfortable stuff."

"Naw.   Its  cow, the hair is real soft. $1500? I've got to get it out
of my life."

"I guess I should sit on it again, just to see."

"You'll love it.  How about Friday morning."


Michael shows up on Friday. The couch is a recycled frame  uppolstered
in black and white cowhide. The armrests are made from automobile tire
treads.    It  is  called  "Roadkill". Amy was given the nickname in a
former life when she had  a  reputation  for  taxidermy  performed  on
roadside finds.

"Its  too  symbolic  of my past," Amy starts. "I just can't take it to
Santa Fe with me."

"I know the feeling. . . "

They sit on Roadkill and discuss leaving past lives  behind,  starting
new ones, and various types of animal skins.  Michael has more or less
decided  that this is the perfect solution to the current dilemma, and
is just stalling for time in the vain hope that he will  prove  to  be
allergic  to the ex-cow's hair.  The automobile tie-in proves to be to
much for him, however.

"So what kind of throw pillows should I have?"

"I've got a skunk skin around here somewhere. And a couple rabbits."

She rummages around through the back storage area of her workshop  and
comes up with a raccoon skin.

"Here."  She puts it under one tread of the Cowch.

"We might be going too far here . . . Do you have any cat?"

"They'd probably be too small, anyway, like the rabbits."

"Yeah.   That's  why  French butchers have to leave the ears on, isn't
it?"

"How about something like what you're leaning on already?" She  points
at  the  square  fabric  pillow he has been using as a pad against the
arm.

"I never liked this ticking stuff, is that it, with the stripes?"

"No the shape, you know.  How about a couple  square  leather  pillows
about that size?"

"I still like the fur thing."

"Sheepskin."

"Sold."


The  Cowch  arrives  a  few days later, in front of the fireplace. Amy
looks around at the tsachskies in the room and  says,  "You  know,  it
might be too bad we didn't get to know each other better, now that I'm
leaving."

Roadkill fits the room like a glove. Initial reactions vary from shock
to  amusement,  but  eventually  every  guest  sits  on  the Cowch and
unconsciously pets it. When there is a fire burning, it begins to work
its magic.


                                 XXX

(c) 1992 M. I. Smith