Because the Sofa Might Eat Us

Or, The Logic of Fear

Dogs, I've often thought, are us as we'd like to be, our ideal selves. They approach the world with eagerness and a spirit of adventure, and they approach others with loyalty and playfulness. A dog will go with you on any adventure, convinced that whatever's at the end of the car ride is going to be awesome, merely because you're taking him there, even if last time was the v-e-t.

Cats have trust issues. They remember that last trip to the v-e-t perfectly well and they definitely aren't fooled by spelling it out. They know that you are not trustworthy because of the multiple occasions when you didn't feed them until 6:35 a.m. instead of 6:30 a.m., when the empty spot in the center of the food bowl reached the size of the donut you were eating right in front of them while not filling it, when the Red Dot of Doom stopped before they indicated they were done chasing it. A cat is perfectly happy to have an adventure--on her own terms, under her own direction, and if she is in control of the adventure and can end it at any time by coming back inside and taking a nap.

In other words, cats (like most of us) adopt a certain suspicious attitude toward change.  Even the most welcome changes can bring that heightened sense of foreboding-tinged joy: this is awesome--when's it gonna start sucking? Unwelcome changes bring on full cattitude: not gonna, don't wanna sulking, an alphabetized list of 3,459 things that will go wrong or reasons why said change won't work, or even a teeth-bared, fangs-out attack on the Unwelcome Change and anyone who supports it.

I've had occasion to hear several people proclaim loudly and earnestly that they LOVE change, that they embrace it. These people, generally speaking, are lying. At least, I assume they're lying based on their flushed faces, raised voices, nervous twitching, and the plethora of anxious questions or speculations about whether and how the future is going to suck that tend to follow the declaration that they love change.

The thing is, it's okay to not be thrilled with change, especially at first. Because, our inner cat remembers all of the changes that haven't ended so well and has heard all of the media speculation and water cooler grumbling and anxious 3 a.m. self-talk that the Unwelcome Change was written into the Holy Books as a clear sign the End Times Are Nigh.

The Change Victims, aka Bob and Daisy

Which brings us to the sofa. We got some new living room furniture last weekend. This involved several changes that had a major impact on Bob and Daisy, our cats. The first change was removing the old sofa. We humans, being Management, had a big picture understanding of why the sofa needed to go. It was too low to the ground for Mother, it didn't fit the shape of the room, it attracted cat hair as though it were trying to reupholster itself, and the cushions not being attached meant that the cushions were always either piled on the floor or about to pile on the floor. It was an easy decision to make, and, after all, we are Management and get to decide things.

The Change Victims, as you might imagine, had a different perspective. They liked the old sofa. The non-attached pillows were soft and made a perfect place to take a nap. The arms were a nice fake leather that is oh-so-soothing to poke holes in with one's claws, and the low back made it easy to launch over during those occasions when one needs to tear through the house like a maniac for no particular reason. So, removing the old sofa was Not Okay.

Kitty Crack

Also, Management did not present the change in a particularly empowering way. Specifically, Management dumped some Kitty Crack in the middle of Bruce's bedroom and shut the door for a couple of hours and when the door was opened, the Unwelcome Change had happened. Friends, I tell you it was horrible. The old sofa was gone, just gone. There was an empty space. No cushy cushions. No clawing material. The Change Victims wandered around in the desert, meowing.

With time (approximately two hours), the Change Victims became sort of used to the Unwelcome Change. The cushy cushions were still gone, but having a ton of extra space in which to chase the Red Dot of Doom was a nice bonus. It was much easier to get to full speed before trying to run up the wall by the a/c closet. The Change Victims felt that maybe, just maybe, they might survive the Unwelcome Change.

Then, the next phase of the Unwelcome Change occurred: the delivery of the new furniture. Once again, Management dumped Kitty Crack in the middle of Bruce's room. While cats, in general, have excellent memories and the Change Victims probably knew at some level this was duplicitous, such is the nature of Kitty Crack that they couldn't help themselves. This time, when the door was opened, New Things were in the living room. New, dangerous things. Yes, it may look like a sofa, but, you never know, it could eat us.

Potentially Cat-Eating Sofa

Thus ensued hours of Cat Drama: ears back, fluffy tailed resistance to the invasion of comfortable furniture. Bob sat under the coffee table and stared intently at the recliner for ten minutes, waiting for it to make its move. When I sat down in it and popped up the foot rest, both cats bolted from the room. Because, you never know, it could've been booby trapped. A full 24 hours later, the sound still made Bob jump. What, you've never seen a La-Z-Boy spit poisoned darts? It could happen.

The first to embrace the Unwelcome Change was Daisy, who is older and wiser and really, really values cushy cushions because her primary activities are sleeping and sitting. (Management facilitated this acceptance by putting her favorite napping bed on the sofa. It is a proven fact that a sofa with a cat bed on it is rarely lethal.) Slowly, Bob, who is young and skittish, has come around, mainly because he is a climber and he can get several inches higher on the new furniture. Also, because the sofa hasn't eaten Daisy yet.

The old sofa is gone; the Unwelcome Change happened. Like many changes, the Change Victims didn't know why it had to happen and they didn't have control or agency regarding the Unwelcome Change. The new furniture is here. There are some things that are good about it, for sure, and not everything changed (there are still some excellent napping options, for instance...just different ones). But the past in all its glory has to be let go, set aside as a memory. The future may indeed suck; the sofa might grow fangs and eat us. It might, however, turn out to be pretty awesome, and while it might not be in our natures to truly embrace an Unwelcome Change, perhaps we can come to terms with it, accept that it has happened even if we fight to change the change, and, with enough time and openness, curl up and settle down into it, own it.

At least until it eats us.

One, As Yet Uneaten, Sleeping Cat