Louie the lampshade

Louie wonders a lot about the meaning of life. He has plenty of time to do this, as he sits atop a guest-room lamp thatʼs only used when company spends the night.

His masters prefer their solitude and their dog and cats, so that doesnʼt happen often.

The existential musings of this especially sensitive lampshade tend toward the contradictory nature of his being. Why, he asks himself, did his masters buy a lamp to hold his hundred-watt companion, presumably because they wanted his photons, and then cover the bulb, named James, with Louie and block some of that same light?

Louie talked about it with James, but found him unable to shed any light on the subject, not to mention that James actually wasnʼt very bright.

Another issue was that Louie had lost respect for his dim-witted roommate. Just when his services were needed, James would flicker on and off in an irresponsible way. A new bulb, named Thomas, finally replaced him.




Meanwhile, good old stolid Louie kept doing his duty year after year and took pride in his work. He just wished he understood his purpose in the grand scheme of things, but follow orders he would.

Lately, however, a new complication has entered his life. When Thomas began to suffer from old age and had to be unscrewed, the newcomer wasn’t even a hundred-watt bulb. Stores now offer a variety of replacements with odd designations such as 72 watts, and many have weird shapes. Even his masters find it confusing.

Little in life makes sense to Louie.