This is a story about too much stuff. I thought to call it hoarding, but that's too disagreeable.
We can't find the hammer. It's not in its designated place, which means it is at the last place it was used or near there, or stolen by someone passing by. Not likely, but we don't have time to look for the hammer and it is needed now. It may be easier to buy another.
Now we have two hammers. Both are claw hammers, one with a hickory handle, the other a composite. The first hammer has been missing for some time and so we say it's lost. We look but don't find it. It's a mystery why we don't find it, stumble upon it, run across it. It's not in its designated spot. The second hammer, we say, has been misplaced.
We don't often use a hammer so it's not a big deal when we can't find either hammer—old hickory or the other—and eventually we buy a third hammer, not another claw but a ball peen that looked enticing on the rack .
This losing and replacing happens with other objects: spatulas and books—ordinary stuff, and so we have duplicates of many things, perhaps even most things.
We really should clean and organize, but instead we sit and accumulate. We're getting older and no longer have the energy we did when we were younger. And so we continue to accumulate. We don't call it hoarding because only crazy people hoard and someday, someone, will have to deal with it but probably not us.