I’ve had the same family room furniture for what feels like forever. Granted, I have a horrendous memory, but the sofa, easy chair, and ottoman are like old friends who have overstayed their welcome and now it’s time to say goodbye. Hum…I wonder why they’re called easy chairs, or ottomans, for that matter? But I digress…

I believe my Broyhill furniture could very likely be the winner of who produces items meant to last longer than we actually want them to. When my fridge and dryer died WAY before their time, I wasn’t a happy camper. But when my family room furniture ran its course, it didn’t have the decency to fall apart.

Enter my seven cats to the rescue. Just when I thought I’d die before my furniture gave in and gave out, some of my felines, who should probably remain nameless so I don’t embarrass them (Jack and Dash), decided to use the edges of the sofa, chair, and ottoman as their personal nail file.

Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I don’t have cat scratchers at nearly every corner of each piece of furniture in the house, because I do. But Jack and Dash prefer annoying me by latching onto the upper corners of the sofa, like rock climbers dangling from a cliff.

I tried placing two-sided tape on each corner so their nails wouldn’t dig into the fabric. That worked until the tape lost its stick, then the cats were right back at it. I’m sure they had a good chuckle thinking what an idiot I am to believe it would thwart them; especially Fat Jack, who sometimes glances my way with a look of disdain.

Anyway, once the edges of the furniture appeared as though they’d gone through a shredder, it gave me the opportunity to go furniture hunting since I now had a good excuse; not that I ever needed one.

Something I learned during this shopping ordeal is that I’m picky but I’m also not. Can that be possible? My answer is yes it can. I didn’t like much of what I saw, but liked enough, and therefore couldn’t decide what I wanted. Therein lies the dilemma.

I looked in Marin and Santa Rosa with friends Sharon and Mandy in tow. It’s more fun to bring friends when you’re agonizing over the color, style, size, and feel of something you may have for the rest of your life. I’m turning 70, after all, so this could be my last furniture purchase.

So, I finally picked a gray sofa with a tint of blue and also chose my personal favorite, a La-Z-Boy recliner. They say it’s the Cadillac of chairs; or is it the Ferrari, since Cadillac’s aren’t so prestigious anymore? All I know is I don’t want to get out of it.

My Ferrari has a battery so no cord runs from the chair, across the room to an outlet. The remote has a lumbar feature for when my back isn’t cooperating, and the head area can move back and forth. I also love rocking in it. Overall, it feels soft as a pillow wrapped in a cloud. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve fallen asleep in it twice already. (Remember, I’m about to be 70.)

So here’s the thing: the first night with the new furniture, Fat Jack walked into the family room and spotted the sofa. (Nothing gets by that guy.) He immediately approached it, plopped onto his side, reached up, dug in his nails, and proceeded to pull himself from one end of the sofa to the other — right in front of me! So this is what I resorted to…

I ask you, how was I thinking that anything would be different with new furniture? All I can say is, welcome to my world.