Death of the Futon (sung to the tune of Death to the Party)

So at some point in the last few months, the futon done died for good. Maybe, if I were a carpenter, it could be saved, but I think it goes without saying that I am not a carpenter of any kind...though I did take shop in sixth grade and make a wooden boat that managed to float. Now it's just a matter of getting the dead thing out of the living room. We don't really use the living room; it's taken up with S.'s large dining room table up against one wall and the sofa against the other (there are four walls, of course, but the other two are besides the point in this pointless recounting of facts). Zul doesn't consider the futon broken. He logs many hours on it each day. He has made the afghan I made, lo so many years ago, rife with cat hair (can a blanket be rife with something?), but what can you do? Take better care of your belongings? What? Shhh.

Growwwwwl cat....minus the growl.