Puncshal had things he had to do. He absolutely had to do them before the 'zine meeting, even if it meant he would be late. But he wasn't looking forward to doing them.
It took all his mental energy to clean the kitchen--to throw out the dead orange juice and milk cartons, rinse out the empty tin of oysters and wash the dishes. So then when he was rewarding himself with a treat, when he pulled the foil top from the applesauce snack serving and reached for a spoon, he suddenly balked at the thought of dirtying even one utensil. He bit his lip in thought. It was a fairly shallow bowl. He shrugged to himself, tossed the spoon back in the drawer, and commenced lapping the applesauce up with his tongue like a cat.