The 140lb Rug

I want a beer, so I head to the fridge. Clapton is lying in front of it, in his usual lazy every-day manner. I ask him to move. I softly tap his posterior with the refrigerator door. He lifts his head up and looks at me, aloof. Could I inconvenience him some other time? Considering my options, I grab him gently in the rear section (it's best not to upset sleeping bears too much) and rotate his limp frame away from the door. I retrieve my beer. He lays there, and I feel sorry. So I shift him back to his original position, where he remains.