Posts Tagged ‘Conspiracy Theories
As someone who is earning a degree in communication studies and also owns pets, I’ve come to realize that logically, my area of study should be conspiracy theories. Really, how else can one make sense of how our companion animals have managed to take over our lives and drive us to do the things we do with them and for them? It’s a plot. It has to be.
This whole conspiracy idea started becoming clear to me one Sunday a few weeks ago, when I acquired a new mattress (queen-sized, of course; how else would the two dogs and three cats all fit up there with me otherwise?). It seemed like a good time to rearrange the bedroom. I hadn’t done this in years, and I was getting tired of the current set-up.
So, after vacuuming up all the pet hair and wiping down the walls from where they like to rub before lying down, I had the room ready. I pushed and groaned the new box spring and mattress into position, being careful not to disturb the cats in the process, and then moved the night stand and lamps to where I wanted them, stepping carefully over the dogs, who had stretched themselves out across the only open space in the room.
The result was wonderful. I had a new view of things, the room felt clean—it was perfect.
Bailey decided the new bed was too high for her to jump up on by herself, but I was able to give her a boost up into position, and the cats looked happy with the new space. But it seems Jack was going to have issues. He made it clear that with the bed in this new location, he simply could not sleep on it anymore.
He looked at it, disturbed and confused, and then paced around and around, whining and laying his head on the edge, gazing sadly and longingly at me. I called and patted the covers time and again, but no amount of coaxing would get him to come up. Finally, he snorted in disgust and went into the other room.
I thought that after a day or two he might change his mind.
Nope. A west-facing bed was not going to cut it, and clearly I had ruined his quality of life.
I had a brief window of hope along about Wednesday, when we had a rainstorm. It seemed that perhaps the problem had been that I was now sleeping on the “passenger” side of the bed, which had been “his” half, instead of the driver’s side, and while it was thundering I scooted over and he popped up for a short visit, but by the next evening, he was back to complaining.
I held firm. I was not going to give in and move it all back.
Until Saturday, when I couldn’t stand it anymore.
Yeah, I did. I shoved all the pieces of furniture back into their old positions, and Jack immediately hopped up into his old spot. Life was good again.
Fortunately for me, many of you know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t tell me you don’t.
I know this, because just a week after my bedroom adventure I was working at the Lawrence (Kansas) Humane Society’s annual Mutt ‘n Strut event. This get-together not only raises funds for the shelter, but it provides an opportunity for those of us who have re-arranged our lives around our animals to join up and confess about our latest compliances.
That morning I stood with three other friends who nodded sympathetically at my story and then offered a few of their own.
“Eating is just a nightmare,” Sue said. “Once I actually had to go into the closet and shut the door so I could eat a banana by myself. And the bathroom—I sit in there with one dog on each side of me! Oh, and we sure can’t use the word ‘walk.’ We can’t even spell it—they figured it out. Now we have to use hand signs of our fingers walking!”
“Us too,” Tom said. “One day I spelled ‘mail’ too fast and Addie jumped up, all ready to go!”
“Same with the food,” Ann added. “Can’t say the word ‘cheese.’ Now we’re using the French: fromage.”
So from conversations like these, I must conclude that these animals are up to something as they manipulate us. Are they sharing what they’ve discovered about us when they yowl and howl outside at night?
I’d give this more thought, but right now I need to feed the birds out on the back porch. My cats like to watch them, and I have to put out several different kinds of seed. The birds like the variety, and, well, you know how that is. . . .