For me, it’s the TV remote. (Or, to put it more correctly, the Dish Network remote.)
I can be sitting in the chair, reading, while Ivylad is watching a Dirty Harry flick…but I have to have the tv remote. I may not touch it for two hours, but it has to be on the arm of my chair.
I don’t mind Ivylad holding My Precious when I am not home, but when I get home…Me wantssssssss it back.
My computer.
Second.
Right now, it’s a (approx) half pack of cigarettes. I’m quitting by that ever popular method of “Cutting Down To Nothing.”
If I had none at all, it’d drive me buggy. I’d literally be climbing the walls. But with a carefully rationed pack, going longer and longer between smokes, they’ve become the focus of my attention. Every time I want one, I can pick up the pack, fondle it a bit (“Yesss, my preciousss, we wants one, doesn’t we preciousss?”) and stave off the craving for another random bit of time.
Even the cats are looking at me funny, by this point. I think they just want to steal my precious. They can’t haves it! Not for them, no precious. Wicked, tricksy, false kitties.
Eyes off the preciousss, feline thief! Not for you, no!
[sub]My wife keeps suggesting the patch. Silly, foolish wife! It’s not the nicotine, oh no precious, it’s the feel and the smell of the precious that we wants, oh yesss, preciousss…[/sub]
My ring! I lovesss my preciousss ring! Given to me it wassss! On my wedding day! Knotsss on it…Celtic knotsss on my ssssterling sssilver preciousssss…
My keys and pocket knife.
They’re clearly my security blanket.
Year 3434 of the second age: Someone has stolen all the mugs in our common-room at school so for the past 18 months my friends and I have been drinking out of a big old white plastic jug. It communal and disgusting and we love it so much. It is precious to us though we buy it with a great pain. It has recently been stolen and we wants it.
coffee, definitely coffee, need my coffee, can’t live without the coffee, don’t take my coffee away from me or you will experience great pain, what’s that? would i like another coffee? yes, yes i would thank you so very much
Beer is my precious.
Talks to me, it does … pretty wordses of foggy mind.
My precious is good with steakses and chipses and footsey-ball. It is cold and smooth and makes me forget the evil, evil work.
No, silly wifeseeees. No touching my precious.
No sipses for you! Find your own precious!
And grab me another one while you’re at it. 
My studio. The one (fairly large) corner of our house where no one else goes and everyone else knows is mine…aaaaallll mine. No contest. It’s where we makessss and teach musicsss we doesss.
And my computer. I have mine, she has hers, they have theirs.
My computer, absolutely. The yellow face, it burns me. I’ll stay inside and guard my precious.
CD Player. Keeps Dan sane and comes with Dan everywhere. Dan’s mood is controlled by the type of music that is inside. Can’t survive without his precious.
My EarGrips. You know, those cool earmuff-things that have the band that goes behind the head instead of on top of it? They’re mine. My own. My precioussssss.
Of course that’s only for the winter. All year round, my precious is, by far, my ever-expanding CD collection.
Definitely the laptop.
My bathtub it’s ancient, with peeling enamel, and rust stains, but it’s HUGE and deep. I would stay in it all day if I could.
My trunk of dresses, that I have made.
No one wears my preciousss but me…
My precious loves meeee.
My precious is sweet…my precious is beautiful.
Our Precioussss???
Our cell phone - It loves us, it does! Don’t call on the evil, tricksy land line. Never answered - too loud and jangly and full of ssssalesman and ssssmellss of work.
precioussss, preciousssss sssilver touchstone… mine mine mine.
My mojo tiki totem man I carved out of a block of wood when I was about 12. If my home were burning down I would run in to the flames to save him. You can take (almost, see below) everything else away from me but don’t take my mojo tiki totem man.
My earliest and fondest memories of my father are when he would take me down to the basement and cut my hair with his cheap-o barber set. The only remaining item from that set is the plastic handled barber shears. I treasure them as a sentimental reminder of my early childhood and my father (he is no longer living).
My Saab Sonett III.
“Whose the bestest widdle car in my widdle garage? YOU are!! YOU are!!! OH, you look so CLEAN after your widdle bath - YES YOU DO!! Does my pwecious wanna go outside? DOES she? DOES SHE???!!! Well, c’MON!! OUTSIDE!! OUTSIDE!!”
LOL, Dooku…is she housebroken?