Fuzzy I was a small child of no more than 6 or 7 when I found, lost, found again, and then forsook my first and only imaginary friend. To be clear, it wasn't completely imaginary; it had physical form, but imagined sentience and on occasion I would even attribute physical actions to it. It was a small, fuzzy and purple ball; about the size of a dime in circumference. It was just one of those pom-pom craft items you can buy in bulk, however, this one was special; if only because my mother had neglected to pick it up off the floor and I had found it. It didn't have a name because I never saw fit to give it one; it wasn't speaking to me nor I to it and I brought it with me most places so there was never need to call out. I can't recall exactly how long I was in possession of the little purple fuzzball and it could have been anywhere from a day or two to a week. I can only recall a few of my memories of it clearly. I was playing with it in the living room between constructing Lego robots and helping the Ninja Turtles battle Shredder. The majority of my interactions with it that weren't rolling or throwing were of the imaginary variety, though I haven't the slightest idea now as to what those adventures entailed. At some point during my play I had received a cookie that I would periodically nibble on an set down randomly in typical child fashion. My father called out that he was running to the convenience store so, seeing opportunity for more treats, I asked to go along. I placed the fuzzball down next to my half-eaten, crumbling cookie and hurriedly got my shoes on to join my father. Upon returning, the disappointment of not getting any treats at the store was quickly replaced with astonishment when I “realized” that I had less cookie remaining than before. That the fuzzball had eaten some of my cookie, was the logical conclusion, to my young mind. I spent the rest of the morning with it resting on my palm next to the remainder (minus a child-sized nibble) of the cookie, hoping to observe the incident that most assuredly occurred while I was away. Sadly, the fuzzball remained motionless. I was undeterred, however, and so, even when the bus came to take me off to kindergarten, my experiment continued. I would soon realize the folly of my untempered curiosity. Aside from the addition of a tiny, cookie-loving pompom in the palm of my hand, the bus ride was a typical one. It was still fairly close to the beginning of the kindergarten year, therefore the sound of a crying child was slightly more common