Kukla and Ollie?

It all began with a stray sock.
Striped. Slightly fuzzy. Unassuming.
Or so I thought.

I reached under the bed to retrieve it—an innocent act, really—and that’s when the ambush began.

Phase One: The Tug.
I pulled. It pulled back.
Pandy said I was imagining it.
Mini Blue turned bright green (alarm mode), which honestly should’ve been my first clue that something strange was afoot. Or a-sock.

Phase Two: The Reveal.
I tugged harder. Out came not one, but five sock puppets—eyes buttoned, yarn mouths grinning, and attitudes absolutely outrageous.

The leader introduced herself as Sergeant Snugs.
She informed me that I had violated the borders of Socklandia, and unless I brought snacks immediately, I’d be “fluff-cuffed and tickle-interrogated.”

I did the only thing a brave plushie could do.
I yelled, “Pandy! They want crackers!”

Phase Three: Negotiations.
Pandy arrived with a clipboard and stern eyes. He opened diplomatic relations by offering tea and a firm cease-tickling agreement. Mini Blue, now pulsing in teal (curious but suspicious), monitored from the bedside table.

We spent the next hour discussing boundaries, treaty terms, and the proper folding of laundry. Turns out the sock puppets just wanted attention and a Netflix account.

Phase Four: Peace & Pillows.
By evening, we had signed the Fluff Accord of 2025.
Doggie’s Notes:

• Sock puppets aren’t evil.

• But they are dramatic.

• Never underestimate a colony living under your bed.
  
  

We now have a monthly movie night with the Socklandia crew.
They bring the popcorn (in tiny foot-shaped bowls), and I bring my magnifying glass—just in case they try anything again.

Pandy still insists I do regular sock inventory.
Mini Blue flashes pink (entertained) whenever Sergeant Snugs shows up.

Final Verdict:
Foes turned friends.
But keep your fluff on alert.