death of a sofa

Last night I decided that I had enough.  It was time for me to end my nearly two-year relationship with my studio sofa.

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We have gone through a lot in our relatively short time together.  This was my bed in my first apartment, a small studio I barely left.  It was, and still is, surprisingly comfortable though the cushions have thinned out a bit.  I don’t believe it was designed for continual/daily use as a bed, but it certainly worked for me.  It also wasn’t designed for more than one person, but you can actually fit two people.

It survived the move to the Northern Territories really well.  And since I had a proper bedroom (practically the size of my old studio too), I didn’t need to use it as a bed anymore.  So it found a home in the living room along with Bec’s sleeper-sofa, and I found a foam mattress to put on my floor.  (And my dad’s 3-inch memory foam topper found it’s way to my room as well… He thinks I’m “borrowing” it; I say “house warming gift”.)

At the new place, it pretty much lived a normal sofa life.  I lounged on it in all manner of positions, the cats climbed around on it and occasionally fell off the arms, and a few guests crashed on it.  One day, however, while trying to herd the kittens to take them to the vet, we had a mishap.  One of the slats was broken in a (failed) attempt to grab one of my precious furballs.  It wasn’t cracked all the way through, but it was still weakened by the accident.  My lovely roommate Bec graciously attempted to fix it by bracing it with a large piece of wood.  This didn’t work.  One week before my move to the Midlands of Lakeview, one of my curious, adorable, and destructive kittens decided to spill a whole mug of mint tea on my dear sofa.  During my melodramatic rampage of throwing cushions around the room, I discovered that our failed attempts at bracing the slats had actually broken another slat, cracking and splitting worse than the first one.  In my less than mature state, I called my mother and unleashed all my frustrations at my sofa and my desire to heave it off the back porch to the cement below.  My mother in all her wisdom told me to stop being idiotic and that I’d miss my couch once it was gone.

My sofa was stripped of it’s tea-covered cushions and made the move with me.  The covers had been washed once before, after Bec’s cat Lucyfur decided to mistake it for her litterbox.  That resulted in a very snug fit, but it worked.  After getting to the new place, and doing a bit of laundry (which still not yet finished), last night I attempt to refit my cushions back into their covers.  The pillows were fine, though I remember them being more squareish than rectangle… The main cushion cover, however, refused to fit.  In a final effort to zip the cushions in place, the cover exploded completely dislocating the zipper.

The cushion is all disfigured and lumpy now as it sits on the frame.  I have a fleece blanket covering on of the arm cushions to keep the batting from being destroyed (further) by myself and the kittens.  I do indeed own another over, an off-white one that it originally came in.  However, with all that I’ve gone through with this sofa, I’m not sure how much more it will survive.  Given the kittens penchant for spilling things, I’m sure that going with the white cover is a terrible idea.  So now, I’m left with few options with my intended “investment” piece.  I can just deal with it and see what else happens to it, or I can list it on craigslist and hope it finds a better home.  The latter option would indeed leave me sofaless, and ultimate seatless in my new living room (other than a very small folding chair I’ve been using for a desk chair).  But I have found another sofa that folds out into a two-person bed that I like.  Unfortunately it’s about $325 ($115 less than I paid originally for my studio sofa and additional cover).  Now, $325 isn’t bad for a couch, even just a two-seater.  But given all the other purchases I’m putting into this new place, it’s adding up.  That’s why I’m not going to rush my decision of my sofa’s fate just yet.  I’ll live with my dear seating friend for just a bit longer, and try to decide whether or not I can part with it.