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When I was growing up I was given this odd little stuffed animal.  It was a pastel blue bunny with a dog’s face holding a pink flower.  It had this little tuft of hair on the top, kind of like a troll.  It was hideous. However, it was my stuffed animal and for some reason I really connect with “Cuddles.”    Cuddles was fragile, after all it was holding onto flower and as such I never washed Cuddles.   You can only imagine the sess pool of germs floating around a toy that had been drooled on, stepped on, put in boxes, taken outside, shoved under the bed and every other imaginable thing a young boy can do to their toys. As I got older, I kept Cuddles with me.   Cuddles had staying power over huge fluffy bears and cool movie inspired animals.  I was offered toys that could have easily taken Cuddles place but I clenched onto dingy old Cuddles harder each time.  That nasty greyish blue dog-bunny with a brown flower and bald patches was my Cuddles.  At this point, you could easily see the set up for the next Stephen King book about a killer toy.