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In the same way they sense earthquakes just before they hit, our pets can tell when things are out of whack around the house.

Pets know when changes are afoot or domestic harmony is out of tune. In response, some pets lavish extra comfort on their humans. Others act needier than usual. Some misbehave, apparently trying to offer the human some needed distraction.

(Scolding a sofa-shredding cat can be considered therapeutic if it keeps you from punching your boss.)

At our house, our longtime dog Elvis reacts to household stress by sleeping. However, he responds to pretty much everything by sleeping, and so it can be difficult to distinguish between emotional upset and regular snoozing.

Things have been a little topsy-turvy around here for the past several months, since my wife made a career change and began sharing my (I mean our) home office.

Elvis senses we're in an adjustment period, and his only recourse is to sleep even more. He's asleep 22 hours a day now, up from his usual 20.

He's a big, shaggy dog, and I'm told the metabolisms of large dogs require lots of sleep at odd hours. Much like teenage boys.

Elvis sleeps so much, he hardly ever moves. Sometimes, I hold a mirror in front of his nose to make sure he's breathing.

If we'd wanted a mutt this still, we could've purchased one of those cute ceramic dogs. They don't eat, and you never have to take them to the vet. Ceramic dogs stay where you put them, rather than stretching across doorways, forcing people to hurdle them to reach the bathroom.

Elvis, not being ceramic, does move occasionally. He rises with a sigh and relocates from one doorway to another, so you never know where the surprise hurdle will be. Carrying baskets of laundry around our house qualifies as an extreme sport.

He wakes to join us in the dining room, standing by in case any food hits the floor. He developed this habit when our sons were small. It pays off less often these days, but Elvis is nothing if not optimistic.

This optimism extends to petting. Elvis might be middle-aged now, but he still hasn't gotten enough scratching behind the ears. That's one itch, apparently, that never goes away. His two waking hours each day are spent seeking contact with the human hand. He can scratch behind his own ears, of course, but it's not the same because he has no fingers.

As soon as anyone takes a seat in the living room, Elvis is right there, sitting tall in his "noble dog" pose, wanting attention. I don't know how he can snap awake like that, just to get a scratch. It's like going from zero to 60 in 4 seconds. Then back to zero.

He gets no scratching during work hours. When I sit at my desk, he doesn't bother me. He knows he can't tear my attention away from the computer screen. Instead, he sleeps on the floor directly behind me, his nose mere inches from the wheels of my rolling chair.

Now that my wife's home all day, Elvis seems confused. The three of us barely fit in the office at the same time. All the laughter and conversation disrupts his napping. And there are twice as many rolling chairs running over his nose.

Lately, he's taken to stretching across the home office door, trapping my wife and me at our desks. Perhaps he thinks he's helping us through our adjustment period. Maybe he's protecting us from the outside world.

Hmm. Maybe he thinks he's our boss.