A Cush(ion)y Life

Enough of these new cats, feral cats, trapped cats and outsider cats! What about the cats I live with? Are they not causing enough problems to write about?

Hmm, how do I answer that?

I thought it was time to buy new cushions for the hard, wooden chairs at my dining table. The cushions I had were still comfortable but, due to the fact that cats - especially a certain sausage-like feline - used them constantly, and even ate upon them, they had, over the years, become nigh disgusting. They needed to be thrown into the garbage and new ones substituted.

Unfortunately, the new cushions did not meet with the sausage’s favour. They were too thin. For me, they were adequate. The padding was slender but much like enough water in a pool not to keep a diver from touching the bottom, but to keep him from hitting it painfully. Tucker did not see the analogy. He refused to use the new cushions.

I brought out the cushion from a similar chair I keep in the bedroom. It is thick, it is comfortable, it is like the old cushions. Tucker approved.

But someone else approved, as well. Usually spreading his orange form across the hard surface of the table, Parker decided that the new cushion was an ideal contrast. He has never paid much attention to the cushions, but it occurred to me that each of them would have had a Tucker smell - what the French call ‘eau de role-et-pole; since I rotate the chairs from one positions to the next, Tucker snoozes on all of their cushions. This one, from the bedroom, was used exclusively for stepping from the cat-tree to the bed, and principally by Josie. So Parker no doubt felt at ease sleeping on it, in its new position.

But necessity makes its demands and an accommodation was reached. After all, a thin cushion is better than none, right, Tucker?

And anyway, some cats are not quite as fussy. Not quite.