The cow wandered into the corner of the room and stood there, sullen, stinking of the field. She stood there, surrounded by books, on her muddy feet between the shelves of books.
Gradually the cow settled down into the cool angles of the ancient hardwood, and, gradually, she turned into a chair of supple leather, adorned with a cow-colored pattern of cow-looking skin. Now, less
cow-like than before, the chair added a touch of modern elegance to the room, perched silently between the shelves of poetry and history, fiction and mystery, beneath the Tiffany lamps and the African patterned vases.