As a sloth I'd hang there on a branch in the air, hard curled claws, fur growing mouldy, alge green hiding in and as stillness its self from the fast phonetic forest. Every now and then, during a lull, the glimer of a shiny inticing bug...sloop down to the floor during a brief span of quelled forest fester. Gobble shiny bug then lope back up to hang...hard curled claws, eyes pleasingly rest or beam.