sleepless nights – The Light Behind the Story

The rain must have started in the wee hours of the morning. I can’t say for sure because I was asleep. It must have been magnificent. The entire heavens above our house letting loose in great balls of moisture to pound the rooftop and release the icy skins of snow that still lingered. It must have been magnificent because the small-to-medium-sized dog called Zelda who is not very brave broke through three barriers to wake me up.

It was not quite 4am. Despite ears plugged with foam, I heard the ruckus downstairs and in my half-awake state knew what was coming. First the door to the crate was pried loose. Next, the wooden gate at the end of the stairs, followed by a mad stampede of feet rushing to the second floor to shove open the bedroom door and catapult the said dog onto the bed.

Just in case I had somehow slept through her breakout, the not-very-brave-dog then promptly proceeded to nudge her nose in my face a dozen times before she settled down beside me. Safe at last. Within fifteen seconds she was snoring. Full-tilt. Out like a light. Naturally, I was not.

I checked the earplugs, only to find they were still snugly in place. There was no escaping the snoring of the dog unless I got up. So, I decided to relieve my bladder, checking the clock on the way to the bathroom to ensure I was not remiss about the time. Sure enough, it was just past 4am.

My bladder now empty, I reclaimed the tiny corner of the bed that remained, giving the snoring dog the slightest of nudges 😉 as I did so. Within seconds the snoring had resumed to its most robust tempo. My mind wandered over the day and the dreams I had already dreamt before my rude awaking, which didn’t help me drift into sleep, as keeping the mind busy never does. It sailed over the snoring dog to contemplate the husband on the other side, still as a monk in meditation, presumably asleep. Lucky bloke.

That’s about the time the cat-named-Millie decided to join the slumber party. Never one to miss an event, Millie also made a (more graceful) leap onto the bed and somehow landed, like the dog, nearest me. After checking out the dog, she began trotting around my side of the bed to find the most optimal place to spend the remainder of her night. Apparently the crook in my bent legs was not good enough, and she was soon on my pillow.

“Oh good,” I thought, “At least she’s settling in.”

Mille, like many felines do, has an uncanny ability to read minds and this evening was no exception. As soon as my thought had been released, she captured it like she would a mouse. I can only be grateful my eyes were closed.

The paw stretched past my hairline to tap my face, claws extended. Then retracted.

I took a breath and willed myself to focus on sleep.

There it was again, the paw, ever-so-slightly tapping the tender skin of my check bones.

Sighing, I reached my own arm out of the covers to stroke the feline’s head.

It wasn’t enough. Our little charade continued about five more times until Mille won the battle. Up went the covers and in went Millie.

The winds brought her howling and moaning to the bottom of the stairs where her powerful claws scraped aside the wallboard to rush up the stairs so she could howl and moan at the baby gate. Her first visit occurred somewhere between 12:30 and 1:00am, and it felt like I had just fallen into a nice, comfortable sleep. My husband hustled her back down the stairs, re-secured the “gates,” two or three times. The entire household now wide awake, except the 12 yr. old who had taken some Melatonin and was sleeping soundly like we all should have been.

The hound would not give up though, she was terrified. Who knew what horrors she had lived through in the first three years of her life, roaming the streets of the south. Tornadoes, hurricanes…my mind was going to all corners of possibility as I pulled on my exercise pants, grabbed my pillow and made my way down the stairs.

“Don’t stay with her, she’ll just get used to it,” my husband warned, calling forth words used long ago when our youngest used to be terrified at night. I took his advice, as I once had, trying to assuage her fears, then, after creeping back up the stairs with her scrambling after me twice, I gave in. Just like I had 8 years before.

First we tried to nestle onto the couch, but after lying awake for about 1.5 hrs, I decided to pull it out into the bed hidden beneath its cushions. Still shaking like a terrified child, my companion for the remainder of the night finally settled into the nook of my folded legs and fell into a snoring slumber.

Just as sleep began to descend upon my lids, the guinea pig decided it was meal time. At around 3:00am, I found myself, once again, wide awake, listening to “Kisses” vigorously lapping the metal ball of her water bottle for what felt like an eternity. She stopped, briefly, then began again. Two more times.

I thought of putting her in the basement, with the cat that was now howling, cage and all, or taking away her water source for the remainder of the night. Would that be considered animal cruelty, I wondered? I can certainly make it through a night without drinking.

But, as the wind howled outside, and my canine companion’s breathing body of warmth was nestled happily beside me, my thoughts turned to how lucky I am. I have a home after all, and a bed to sleep in, even if it was, at that moment, a pulled out couch with no sheets and not enough blankets. I have shelter and comfort. I had love, pure, unconditional love, snuggled beside me, and I felt full and content. Some nights, 3 hrs of total sleep is enough. Especially when you’ve got a home filled with love.