Sleeping Arrangements

I just finished reading this article, Warm Nights, Cold Noses, about sharing our beds with animals. According to a recent study, 14 to 62 percent of the 165 million dogs and cats in this country sleep in bed with us. While another study claims that allowing animals into bed can be dangerous (citing instances of disease-ridden fleas and meningitis—?), the consensus seems to be that the emotional and physiological benefits outweigh any potential health risks.

The first day I brought Chewie home I was determined to do things the “right” way. She would sleep in her crate, which I had enthusiastically decked out with blankets, old towels, and a couple of stuffed animals. For a cage, I thought it looked pretty cosy. And it was right next to my bed.

In an Oscar-worthy performance, she cried, whined, clawed at the blankets and threw herself at the sides of the crate. After what felt like hours (but was probably about ten minutes), I gave in and opened the door. She hopped calmly onto the bed, nudged under the comforter with her nose, circled three times and wedged herself in against my belly. We’ve been spooning ever since. As others can attest, there is really nothing like snuggling with the Chew. She has a unique way of pressing herself against you and radiating warmth without being sloppy about it. “Do you want to get under?” I’ll ask, and she looks at me, like, duh—before snuggling in.

Even on the couch or in the car, she’ll find a way to fit her little body into an impossibly tight space and then act like she’s comfortable. The pièce de résistance is when she settles her chin down firmly, with a big sigh and a loud groan.

I’ve complained plenty about the side effects of the Chewie snuggle: namely, the shedding. Changing sheets and lint-rolling furniture each week is no picnic. But right now I’d hire myself out as a cleaning lady to be able to squeeze her chunkiness, sniff her stinkiness, and wake up with her head on my pillow.