Erin Sings

the sounds of the day stirring brought me awake in those freshest moments when you can smell the dew in the air and nothing has quite happened yet to determine the course of the day - a  glorious and unfettered liminal space.  I find it a perfect time to collect myself as I most desire.  A day can feel like an entity unto itself to me and if each day could be personified, that being would visit in the early, not-quite hours and make itself available for communion.  Some part of me seeks to discuss what sorts of things would make the best use of that day as though we could work in tandem to accomplish anything as long as i don’t miss those ephemeral moments.

I woke up in the same position I remember falling asleep in, which is rare and allows me  a sense of relaxation I don’t often get.  A stillness in my limbs and an overall sense of restfulness that makes it a physical pleasure to lie still and breathe - in  no hurry to stretch or start.

The first light was diffused by a thin, light layer of cloud leaving not only just enough light to notice that alongside my waist and thigh a very soft and comfortable cat that i didn’t recognize had fallen asleep. But also not too much light to break the misty spell of finding a stray animal peacefully curled up next to your body for warmth and possible comfort.  The sort of light that lets you believe that you’ve managed to slip into an otherworld while in your sleep and as long as your mind doesn’t move too much and your body stays calm and the light stays thin you will remain.

I leave my bedroom window open so my cat, Picasso, can let herself in and out as she pleases and the size of the bedroom means that the foot of my bed meets the window ledge conveniently for traveling animals.
it wasn’t the new cat’s first visit.  I’ve seen her in the yard at a distance.  and the night before last she wandered inside but got spooked before she got to rest and i was shocked awake by her sudden weight by my head and her claws on my arm as she landed on the bed before dashing out the window letting me catch only a sleepy glimpse of her face.

I sat up to pet her and she came awake, meowing brightly and rubbing her head around my body and nuzzling my neck and curling up in my arms very much at ease now that she’d had her night’s sleep in a warm bed.

As the sky got brighter I could see that she had crossed eyes and one was particularly milky. She had a smoky color to her, like a siamese cat, with long hair and patches on her cheeks that made her nose look narrow and her expression alert.   her joints seemed a bit stiff and her body on the gaunt side of things.

Foxy, the dog, sat curiously at the side of the bed hoping to catch a sniff and picasso sat wary and irritated on her perch in the corner attempting to purchase bed space somehow near me but not near our intruder, ungraciously resigned to sharing her domain and affection with yet another animal more genial and cuddly than she.

I let the gentle swell of the day rock me back to sleep and when my husband came home later in the morning he found three heads peaking to see who it was and none of them was mine.  Although the sudden noise of the door and entrance of someone new scared her out the window I was glad that she’d had a safe harbor for a night and hoped she’d feel welcome again - although i couldn’t speak for picasso more inclined to hiss and moan than welcome and foxy, who i think means well, but doesn’t understand that chasing is not a particularly sensitive way to encourage friendship between animals of other cultures and so while she returned after my husband left again Picasso and Foxy made short work of the visit and I haven’t seen her around again.

But something more than a cuddly visit appeals to me about this.  The idea of being a haven, both in myself and in my home resonates with me.  In this particular way.  I didn’t set out looking for an abandoned heart or stray cat - it found me.  and when it did I didn’t set about fixing it or figuring it out or any other grand response - I didn’t have the chance to make it about me or what I was giving away because I was sleeping and it was welcome in the simplest possible way.  By just being allowed to be there in the space it chose for it’s own reasons (left unknown to me).

There is a welcoming which is solicited and efforted - well-intended but yearning for someone or something to welcome…and there are welcomes which are begrudging and offered after the fact and more in between and I feel those sorts often.  This one was special to me in that instead of being the force behind it, I was simply another ingredient. It is such a great way to feel a sense of harmony to just be another part of something before my ability to deliberate creeps in to try and navigate myself to the center  as the cause again.

I would like it to be true that the deity of a fresh day could often call on me to be a simple part of welcoming the lost or left who may then evaporate with the dew in that magically temporary way.