Paws of the spawn.

It's a regular bachelor's room, considering a more than average income. Clothes are all around the bed. Simple colors, combinations of darks and lights. The bedroom window is almost wall size. Sunlight has failed to wake him up, but the mid-morning heat seems to be acting as a reminder to his blood stream to go and take possession of his senses once more. Touch is thankful to feel the bed, hearing has a buzz, the light is no friend of seeing right now. Taste wishes it wouldn't exist, and smell wishes the cavern of taste hadn't been so welcoming of large amounts of alcohol the night before. The obvious regular feelings come along, so now the question. How did he get to bed last night? Not that it really matters, but it would be nice to know that his body wasn't wandering without his brain controling it. It's nice to wake up alone to this. All senses checked, it's time for coffee and his clumsy steps are close to make him trip. For some reason he didn't trip thanks to a growl, as when a dog softly warns you not to get any closer to it. His heart started pounding, creating a beat that was beyond the reality of his known sensations. A million things and trips hadn't ever given him such feelings. The thing is, he doesn't own a dog.