She was a child born just prior to the Great Depression. Finding her solace in the thrift shops, she would bring home bags of treasures. She had long since given up sleeping in the bedroom. The room had morphed into a stuffed animal purgatory.
The kitchen had gone from tidy to unusable. Bags and bags filled to the brim were everywhere. Collecting had long ago jumped shark into hoarding. There were magazines and newspapers she would never read, cookbooks she would not use.
There was room, just enough for her to sit in front of the TV. It was where she slept, sitting up. The amalgamation was more important than her own personal comfort.
She would like to have a pet, but the responsibility of caring for herself was nearly too much. Her collections made her happy and that was all that really mattered.