Yesterday I took a nap. Jesus, what a decadent indulgence.
I sat on the far side of the couch, stage left, and leaned closer to the pillows. One of the pillows is a vibrant red. The other pillow is plaid, with a gray green background striped by charcoal, black, some white and a few punctuations of a vibrant red. The reds almost match.
There are two blankets on the couch. One belongs to me and one belongs to The Beast. On GP (general principle for the uninitiated. This was one of my mother’s shorthands. I really like this one), I will NOT use the dog blanket. Not even to warm my feet.
The other blanket belongs to humans. It’s a heavy, knitted blanket that The Beast prefers, the rat bastard. So, to save it from dog-dom, I hang it stylishly over the back of the couch. The Beast does not have the wherewithal to make it his own.
Anyway, he already has his own. It’s fleecy and comfy and smells like dog. And I desperately want him to sleep on it if he insists on being on the couch. And he does insist. I especially want him to use his Beast-blanky if he’s been outside. In the rain. I do recognize that sometimes what I want just doesn’t make it to reality.
Anyway, I was leaning on the pillows and, like a teeter-totter, as one side of me went down, the other went up. I found my feet on the couch, just to my right. Fortunately I had kicked off my shoes. So clever.
As my feet came up, I sunk further into those pillows. My knees drew closer to my chest. I guess I must have been trying to be warm without grabbing the dog blanket. Even more fortunately, The Beast walked onto the couch. He can do that. He doesn’t jump up. He’s so big he just steps on the couch.
I’m glad that he joined me in that now my feet had a huge warm head on them. There was no more chill. I had already put on my house-hoodie (this is my version of Mr. Rogers’ sweater) so all I needed to do was place my feet under The Beast’s neck. His neck is big, and full of extra skin and super soft. His head and his shoulders are bony, but his neck? Like a baby blanket. Or a baby’s fur coat.
To be honest, I have no idea what happened next. This is the napping part. I assume that my eyes were closed. They may have fluttered a bit if I was dreaming, but I don’t remember a dream. I expect that my breathing became deeper and very regular. I think that I pushed my feet a bit further underneath The Beast. He didn’t really notice. He was napping, too.
So we napped at the same time. Together. When I lost track of time I could have been reading a book by the light of the window. (I wasn’t even pretending to read, that’s how good this nap was.) When I tossed my head back and opened my eyes, it was dark. Not yet time to brush my teeth, and enough time to watch a silly movie before bed.
In a life where there is always doing or thinking about doing, napping is the absolute anti-do. And dear Jesus, Joseph and Mary, it is fabulous.