The Cushions

Every single night, before Ste goes to bed, he rearranges the cushions on the couch.

Not because he is particularly committed to interior design.

Because of Bob.

He gathers them all up and stacks them carefully on the arm of the couch in one enormous pile, presumably believing that this will stop Bob from getting at them during the night.

And every single morning, we come downstairs to find two or three cushions spread across the living-room floor.

Usually with Bob lying on top of them.

Apparently, at some point during the night, he has climbed onto the couch, helped himself to whichever cushions took his fancy, dragged them onto the floor and arranged himself a little bed.

This happens every night.

Ste stacks them.

Bob retrieves them.

Ste stacks them again.

Bob retrieves them again.

But my favourite is when Bob doesn’t even wait for us to go to bed.

Sometimes Ste will do his usual cushion arrangement and head upstairs, and Bob will stay downstairs with me.

He’ll wait.

Then he’ll look at the cushions.

Then he’ll look directly at me.

And I swear there is a moment where we both know exactly what he’s about to do.

He jumps onto the couch.

Paws at Ste’s carefully constructed cushion tower until two or three tumble onto the floor.

Jumps back down.

Drags them into position.

Lies on top of them.

And lets out the biggest, most contented sigh.

I never stop him.

Nobody does.

It’s far too cute.

But lately I’ve started wondering if we’ve got this whole thing backwards.

What if Bob has misunderstood this ritual completely?

What if he thinks Ste is doing something lovely for him every single night?

Ste thinks he’s putting the cushions away.

Bob thinks this lovely man comes downstairs every evening and stacks his bedding ready for collection.

And perhaps that’s why Bob looks so completely unsurprised when he climbs onto the couch to retrieve them.

As far as he’s concerned, they’re exactly where Ste left them for him.