Cookin', Critters and Chillun

Snuggling on the sofa

I remember when my husband and I used to snuggle on the sofa when we were first married. Just the two of us.

We still do, frequently late at night, matching snores much of the time.

Bill Hibbert with Catawba on the sofa where Bill and Meg usually snuggle. Photo by Meg Hibbert

About seven years after we were married we were joined on a yellow brocade sofa by infant son Rex. I remember sitting on a different sofa and balancing a cup of tea on my shelf of a stomach while awaiting the birth of daughter Meredith. There are a few pictures of us with Rex, Meredith and youngest daughter Haley on the sofa. Mostly, our family photos seemed to be around the dining room table at holidays or birthdays or other occasions involving food.

But now, we’re back to just the two of us on the sofa that used to belong to Bill’s parents, in a different life and different color and different state. They lived in Atlanta when they purchased the camelback Chippendale, I guess, that wasn’t covered in material that had children or dogs in mind.

It was white with tasteful pink and blue stripes when they first bought it. After umpteen years, we had it recovered in black, no-wale corduroy or something like that. Now it needs to be redone again. There’s usually a quilt covering the bald spots.

As often as not we’re joined by Sunny Cat, our 12-year-old yellow-and-white kitty who is a real snuggler.

Sunny sleeps on one end after we go to bed. He tolerates us sharing the sofa with him, as long as he can climb into a lap or put his head on Bill’s leg.

I’ve suspected that when we’re in bed, our terrier-Shihtzu mix, Skippy, claims the sofa, even though he’s too antsy to stay still long. I didn’t think our former “cute little puppy,” Catawba, who is now about 120 pounds but who’s counting, could still fit. He needs a sofa all his own.

The other night he surprised us by clambering up on the sofa with Bill. There was barely room for my husband, and definitely, not me.

Catawba and Skippy prefer the deck much of the night. Skippy’s pillow is Catawba, except when the big dog is pulling on the smaller one and he gets tired of it.

I haven’t written about the adventures of Catawba in awhile. Believe it or not, people have asked for an update. He’s a big, big boy now, and a lot stronger than I am, if he takes a mind to start for the kitty who tolerates him.

I thought he had grown past the library book-eating stage. About a month ago, he chose another one. That time, too, there were bones on the dustcover of the mystery. Because of the lighting, I seldom sit on the sofa to read, except during daytime.

But I still sit there to snuggle with Bill.

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