Local Pet Opens Exclusive Eye Clinic for Stuffed Animals, Accepts No Insurance

A LaughParty comic take.

A LaughParty comic take. Everything below is fiction, invented purely for giggles.

In a quiet living room somewhere between the couch and the radiator, a small furry professional named Babka has built a thriving private practice. His specialty is toy ophthalmology. His success rate is a perfect 100 percent, if success means every patient leaves without eyes.

Babka's humans first noticed the pattern when a plush giraffe emerged from the hallway looking serene, blank and oddly enlightened. Then came a fleece hedgehog. Then a rubber duck that, frankly, never had a strong grip on reality anyway. Each toy was otherwise untouched. No stuffing explosions. No missing limbs. Just two neat little vacancies where the eyes used to be.

Experts with no credentials whatsoever have examined the evidence. One self-described toy forensics consultant, who is just the family's neighbor holding a magnifying glass from a cereal box, reported that the incisions were extremely clean. He then stated that he had seen tidier work only on a professionally carved Thanksgiving turkey, and that he would like to stop thinking about it now.

The humans now face a parenting dilemma familiar to anyone raising a gifted child. Should they be proud? Babka shows focus, patience and fine motor skills that most people lose by the second hour of assembling flat-pack furniture. Or should they be scared? He does stare at them while they sleep, though he insists in a series of slow blinks that this is a coincidence.

In a fictional interview conducted entirely through tail movements, Babka explained his philosophy. Toys, he believes, are happier when they cannot see the chaos of a household that leaves socks on the floor. By removing the eyes, he grants them peace. He also mentioned, through one extended sniff, that the eyes are crunchy, and that this is a separate but equally valid reason.

The household has tried several interventions. They bought toys with embroidered eyes. Babka studied them with the cool disappointment of a chef handed a microwave dinner. They bought toys with no eyes at all. Babka ignored them, because where is the artistry in that? They briefly considered hiring a second pet as an assistant, but feared it would lead to expansion and possibly a franchise.

Meanwhile, the family's collection of eyeless toys has grown into what visitors politely call a gallery and less politely call a very calm horror movie. Guests are advised not to make eye contact, which, to be fair, is the toys' whole situation.

Babka's next appointment is reportedly a large plush owl, a bold choice given that owls are basically eyes with feathers attached. The family has cleared his schedule, set out a towel and accepted the truth. They are both proud and scared, which, according to every parent ever, is exactly how it is supposed to feel.

Inspired by Babka likes to remove the eyes from his toys with surgical precision. We don't know if we should be proud or scared....