What happens when you get up from your seat and you own a cat? That’s right – you forfeit your spot. Basic feline logic. The chair is now warm and therefore belongs to them. You can either lift them into your lap (offering a new warm space), or you can develop contortionist abilities and fit around the feline. Either way, you aren’t getting your seat back. (Unless you’re a monster and attempt to evict the cat) This was my problem when we brought my new desk chair into the office all those years ago. Actually, Tonks didn’t even wait until I SAT in it to decide it was her new throne. (She didn’t even wait for it to move into the office; as soon as we assembled it, she jumped on it) Something about that cozy spot called to her. And we were never going to budge her. Even if we thought differently.
Let Sleeping Cats Lie
The only constant about cats is that they aren’t consistent. As soon as you’re convinced you’ve figured everything out about your favorite feline, they’ll change. Or appear to, at any rate. But there’s usually an underlying pattern to that madness. And sleeping spots are one of the things cats get choosy about.
Like Goldilocks, they hunt out the “just right” places around the house that suit their needs for:
But they can’t grow complacent and have just ONE retreat to rely on. That’s too predictable and could lead to predators knowing where to find them. (In the case of your home, that predator is probably the vacuum) So they ensure they have a few handy places to sleep in that fit the bill. And then they rotate as the seasons change (and vents switch from AC to heat) or the angle of the sun through a window loses its potency.
These shifts just make it APPEAR that they’re taking the best seats in the house. But if you look around, they’re probably situated near comfy blankets, heat registers, and away from the floor and other pets.
The Coveted Desk Chair
My desk chair happens to be the Holy Grail of cat sleeping spots.
It’s quiet (when I’m not working and, hence, don’t have music blaring over the speakers, at any rate) because the office is on the side of the house. I keep it pushed into my desk, so it provides a natural pocket of privacy, especially considering Tonks’s black hair. We’ve gone looking for her and walked right past without a blink. And it sits beside one of the floor vents, which I keep closed in the summer because of my temperature sensitivities. So the office is always on the warm side, regardless of the season.
Not to mention that it’s a few kitty steps away from a tantalizing array of toys and playthings. (I finally found the last shark’s tooth I was missing)
It’s Kitty Shangri-La!
And I had resigned myself to having to share the spot with her, regardless of the horrific ergonomics it resulted in. (She always takes the back of the chair, leaving me to perch on the very front like a hunchback)
Which was why we decided on a compromise. Or so we thought.
The Tonks Alternative
Picking up that folding chair was a joke – at first. It didn’t cost much, and it was easy enough to tuck out of the way if we decided it cluttered the office too much. But when we set it beside my desk, it was the perfect height. And – because it was new – Tonks immediately claimed it as her own.
Sure, people thought I was insane for buying my cat a desk chair. But it fulfilled all of the requirements of MY chair without forcing me to strain my back. And since I have an enormous desk, there was plenty of room for it in the office. Tonks had her own spot from which to supervise. Earning plenty of delighted comments when people spotted her during Zoom calls.
I felt triumphant.
I had regained my rightful working environment, without booting my beloved feline in the process. She could still be with me the entire time. And she had the addition of a fleece blanket to curl up on. (Or burrow under as the mood suggested)
Personally, I considered it the most brilliant idea I’d ever had. When it worked.
Fighting Over a Desk Chair
As it turns out, Tonks’s chair was merely added to her rotation.
My desk chair is still a preferred sleeping spot. And every morning becomes a race to see who gets there first. If I’m successful, she either chooses to snuggle into my lap or deigns to move to her chair. If she gets there first, I have to wedge myself around her. (We call it “sharing the chair,” even if I’m usually getting little more than a strip of the seat)
Does she weigh no more than ten pounds? Yes.
Could I easily lift her and place her on HER chair so I’d be more comfortable? Debatable. (YOU try writing with an angry cat face looking over your shoulder)
I’ll say this, though: It galvanizes me to get moving every morning!