Sleepless nights? We all have ’em, some more than others and I live with them on a nightly basis. My body clock has been out of whack for years and during those dark times staring at the ceiling, a firework display of thoughts are going off in my head. Mostly random, with a firecracker of angst bouncing off the walls of my solar plexus.
The time between drifting off in anticipation of waking again to enjoy the dawn chorussing of hundreds of ecstatically excited small birds, each with the lung capacity of a huffalump, being woken before the avian choir bursts into song to the sound of purring, isn’t all bad.
Even when I’m luxuriating in a fleeting spell of REM sleep, dreaming about lying on a Maldivian beach drinking cocktails with one hand and signing books with the other, I can forgive our Burmese boy for positioning himself on my pillow with his head on my cheek, his throat nestling against my ear. The soft, deep rumbling of his purr is loud, like a giant bee hovering above a nectar-drenched sunflower, but it is also strangely comforting.
I move him gently under my arm, where he falls to sleep, instantly, and, strangely, I too, feel delightfully dozy.