Both of our cats, Lily and Thai turned six years old in May. Lily on the 15th and Thai on the 30th. The last time I bought a bedspread was right before their arrival to our home. Kittens are always running around with their little daggers ready for action, ripping and tearing everything or everyone in sight. Such was the fate of my bedspread. I have put off buying a new one until I was sure the majority of destruction was behind us even though the old spread was quite tattered. (Our youngest cat, Melody, although only two, has never been as destructive as her big brother.) Ripping and tearing is not the problem now. The new bedspread is slightly stiffer than the old one and the sound it makes when I make the bed is the exact same sound sheets make when they are being changed. At least it sounds that way to my cats. Almost all cats love sheet changing. The ripple of the sheets as you cover the bed is an ocean of delight for play. Thai especially loves clean sheets and is always the first to enjoy them. He burrows between the sheets while Melody “bump jumps” him with delight. Then they wrestle all over the bed, while Lily mostly lounges and watches. I have tried to explain to them that the new bedspread is not clean sheets, but to no avail. Instead of once a week bed chaos, it is now every day. The cats know it’s the sheets making that noise. They have evidence from their years of experience. I know it’s not. They have their truth. I have mine. I will never convince them otherwise, nor they me. That’s the thing about truth. It takes as many forms as there are beings on the planet. No one’s truth is THE truth because there is no THE truth. Wars have been fought for generations to prove otherwise. No wars in my house. I cringe as the cats fly across my new bedspread with claws ready for action. I do what I can to protect it, but it is not worth fighting for my truth in a war I cannot win.