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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens.
You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nicolai.
I create everything you hear, and nothing much happens.
Audio Engineering is by Bob Woodersheim.
We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to BeHeard Movement.
BeHeard offers a range of essential services to unhoused individuals, including private showers, access to clean and fresh laundry services, haircuts and more.
You can learn more in our show notes.
And of course you can subscribe to our premium version, which is ad -free and overflowing with bonus episodes for a very affordable ten cents a day.
But did you know that if you can't swing that and could really use some extra nothing much, We have a Pay It Forward fund set up.
Your fellow listeners donate, and then you can ask to receive a subscription for free.
There's no need to explain your situation.
Just tell us you'd like the gift of a membership and we'll do the rest. If you'd like to learn more, or to donate to the fund, visit the Pay It Forward link Now, I'm about to tell you a bedtime story.
It's simple when not much happens in it, and that is the idea.
The story is a soft place to rest your mind, a simple and pleasant way to occupy it, so that it doesn't wander away and keep you up.
All you need to do is listen, in a relaxed way.
Just follow along with the sound of my voice, and the simple details of the story, and soon, very soon, you'll be deeply asleep.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
If you wake in the middle of the night, you could listen again, or just think your way back through any part of the story that you can remember, retraining your brain to settle and rest. And the more you do this, the better your sleep will get.
Our story tonight is called Dogs and Dustmops.
And it's a story about some spring cleaning on a warm afternoon.
It's also about an orange kitty in the window, the sound of the vacuum running upstairs, fresh sheets, scrabbling paws on the deck, and the way your heart swells when you wrap your arms around someone you love.
So turn off your light, snuggle your body down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can.
Take a moment to just feel how good it is to be in bed, to be about to sleep.
Let's take a deep breath in through the nose, and out through the Nice.
Let's do that again.
Breathe in. And out.
Good. Dogs and dust mops.
We were doing a bit of spring cleaning.
We had all the windows open, with fresh air moving through the house, and the sound of mowers, and talking neighbors, echoing from a few doors down.
Marmalade, my regal orange cat, was wedged into one of the open windows.
Her round body pressed against the screen, and her silky fur sticking through the mesh.
Her green eyes were closed, and her head swayed a bit on her neck.
Not dozing, but catching scents on the wind.
Her whiskers twitched when the breeze blew, and I knew if I lay a hand on her back, she would start to purr almost instantly.
She was an indoor cat who, every year, had a few carefully chaperoned visits into the back garden, a few bike rides buckled into her trailer and a few impromptu walks to the mailbox tucked into my arms. It suited her.
I'd found her out in the snow a few years back, just a kitten leaving tiny paw prints in the flakes.
And I'd wondered, when she'd first stepped into my house, if it would be difficult to keep her in.
If she'd want out again.
If she were some kind of ramblin', rolling stone, who wouldn't want to settle down.
But those fears were quickly allayed.
Soon as she'd discovered the delights of a crackling fire and ear rubs on the sofa, she'd been happy to leave the outside, outside.
Still, in the spring, when we open everything up, she loves to get close.
A squirrel dashed across the yard, and her eyes sprang open, sensing him.
Her lazy, docile attitude suddenly shifted.
She sat up, pressed her nose to the screen, watching as the squirrel teased her by running closer, flapping his fluffy tail, and generally acting unbothered.
If this were a cartoon, he would have pulled out an emery board and begun filing his nails.
Marmee began chattering and clicking at him.
An empty threat, for sure.
But one she felt compelled to issue.
I'd been running the dust mop along the floorboards, watching this drama unfold, and rolled my eyes as I fished a brown dust bunny from far back under the sofa.
If it were a little bigger, I might have expected it to start barking and jumping.
It was clearly made of crumb fur.
Our scruffy, small pooch, who had more energy than the rest of us put together, was shedding in the warm weather.
It reminded me to make an appointment with the groomer, and as he came around the corner, racing through my dust pile, I told him so.
Haircut next week, Mr. Crumbles, I said.
He didn't seem to care or notice.
Instead, he jumped his front paws up beside Marmalade and began barking at the squirrel.
I liked watching their backs, shoulder to shoulder, as they shared this moment of sibling excitement.
For a while, it had just been Marmalade and me, and she was a mama's girl.
I wasn't sure how she would do with a little brother.
But I shouldn't have worried.
While she occasionally feigned being too cool for dogs, the truth was that she adored him.
Not in the same way that he adored her.
He came with wild love, the bull you overtype.
She came with gentle love.
The lick your face at the end of the day type.
He was, a bit, her baby when she watched over him.
Reassured him when the thunder crashed.
I meowed at him when he got late -night zoomies.
Told him to go to sleep.
Upstairs, I heard the click of greyhound toenails on the floors.
And I chuckled, imagining what was happening.
I was on floor duty downstairs, and their dad was on bedroom duty upstairs.
And I was pretty sure he'd just gotten to changing the sheets.
Bird, our rescued hound, the sleepiest boy you've ever met, had just been evicted from the bed.
I was still laughing under my breath as I went through the hall to the foot of the stairs and called out to him, Birdie, did Dad make you get up?
Come on down here, and you can sleep on the porch. It's sunny.
A pointed gray face emerged at the top step.
Sweet Birdie's deep black eyes blinked at me.
He shuffled down the stairs and pressed his body against my leg.
Bird is probably the gentlest of all of us, humans included.
He was calm and thoughtful, stood back while Crum tore his toys to bits or Marmie strutted through the kitchen.
I leaned down and held him, his soft body wrapped in my arms. I could feel his heart beating and the light touch of his breath on my shoulder.
I love my family so much. Each of these souls.
So much, it sometimes brought tears to my eyes.
I wiped them away, reminding myself that while there was Nothing wrong with the tenderness it had brought up.
They were here with me now.
They weren't a memory.
I should enjoy them now.
I think Bird understood how I felt.
He stood very still, letting me take some deep breaths.
When I stood up, I patted him on the back and led him out to the porch. At the sound of the door opening, the squirrel, who was still teasing marm and crumb in the window, finally decided he'd probably pushed his luck as far as it could safely go, and ran a few feet up the nearest tree.
Bird paid no mind to him, just lumbered down the steps to find a patch of sunlight to stretch out in.
Crumb came hurtling out of the house behind us, and I could see by the look in his eyes that he really thought he had a chance of catching up with his little harasser.
Oh bless, I mumbled as I carried the dust mop over to the compost pile near the fence and started shaking it out.
Dog hair and specks of dust flew out and caught in the sun and drifted away on a breeze.
Bird's eyes were already shut, his long legs stretched out in the new grass.
Crumb still barked around the base of the tree, his little limbs bouncing him up and down.
And Marmalade was, once again, stretched out on her sill.
Tuffs of orange fur showing through the weave of the screen.
I heard the vacuum click on upstairs, and smiled as I headed back in to finish my chores.
dogs and dust mops.
We were doing a bit of spring cleaning.
We had all the windows open with fresh air blowing through the house.
And the sound of lawn mowers and talking neighbors echoing from a few doors down.
Marmalade, my regal orange cat, was wedged into one of the open windows.
Her round body pressed against the screen, and her silky fur sticking through the mesh.
Her green eyes were closed, and her head swayed a bit on her neck, Not dozing, but catching sense on the wind.
Her whiskers twitched when the breeze blew her way.
And I knew, if I lay a hand on her back, She would start to purr, almost instantly.
She was an indoor cat, who, every year, had a few carefully chaperoned visits into the back garden, a few bike rides buckled into her cat trailer, and a few impromptu walks to the mailbox tucked into my arms. I had suited her.
I'd found her out in the snow a few years back.
Just a kitten, leaving tiny paw prints in the flakes.
And I'd wondered, when she first stepped into my house, if it be difficult to keep her in.
If she'd want out again, if she were some kind of rambling, rolling stone who wouldn't want to settle down.
But those fears were quickly allayed.
As soon as she discovered the delights of a crackling fire, and ear rubs on the sofa, she was happy to leave the outside, outside.
Still, in the spring, when we open everything up, she loves to get close.
A squirrel dashed across the yard, and her eyes sprang open, sensing him.
Her lazy, docile attitude suddenly switched.
She sat up and pressed her nose to the screen, watching as the squirrel teased her by running closer flapping his fluffy tail and generally acting unbothered.
If this were a cartoon, he would have pulled out an emery board and began filing his nails.
Marmie began chattering, and clicking at him.
An empty threat, for sure.
But one she felt compelled to issue.
I'd been running the dust mop along the floorboards, watching this drama unfold, and rolled my eyes as I fished a brown dust bunny from far back under the sofa.
If it were a little bigger, I might have expected it to start barking and jumping.
It was clearly made of crumb fur.
Our scruffy, small pooch, who had more energy than the rest of us put together, was shedding in the warm weather.
It reminded me to make an appointment with the groomer, and as he came around the corner, racing through my dust pile, I told him so.
"'Haircut next week, Mr. Crumbles' !" I said.
He didn't seem to care or notice.
Instead, he jumped his front paws up beside Marmalade and began barking at the squirrel.
I liked watching their backs, shoulder to shoulder, as they shared this moment of sibling excitement.
For a while it had just been Marmalade and me, and she was a momma's girl.
I wasn't sure how she would do with a little brother, but I shouldn't have worried.
While she occasionally feigned being too cool for dogs, the truth was that she adored him.
Not in the same way that he adored her.
He came with wild love, the bull you over -type.
She came with gentle love, the lick -your -face -at -the -end -of -the -day type.
He was, a bit, her baby, when she watched over him.
Reassured him when thunder crashed.
Meowed at him when he got late night zoomies, telling him to go to sleep.
Upstairs, I heard the click of greyhound toenails on the floor.
I chuckled, imagining what was happening.
I was on floor duty downstairs, and their dad was on bedroom duty upstairs, and I was pretty sure that he'd just gotten to changing the sheets, meaning bird, our rescued hound, and the sleepiest boy you've ever met, had just been evicted from the bed.
I was still laughing under my breath as I went through the hall to the foot of the stairs, and called to him.
Birdie, did dad make you get up?
Come on down here, and you can sleep on the porch. It's sunny.
A pointed, blue -gray face emerged at the top step.
Sweet Birdie's deep black eyes blinked at me.
I shuffled down the stairs and pressed his body against my leg.
Bird is probably the gentlest of all of us, humans included.
He was calm and thoughtful.
Stood back while Crumb tore his toys to bits.
Our marmy strutted through the kitchen.
I leaned down and held him.
His soft body wrapped in my arms. I could feel his heart beating and the light touch of his breath on my shoulder.
I loved my family so much, each of these souls, so much, it sometimes brought tears to my with the tenderness it brought up.
They were here with me now.
They weren't a memory.
I should enjoy them now.
I think Bird understood how I felt.
He stood very still, letting me take some deep breaths.
When I stood up tall, I patted him on the back and led him to the porch. As I opened the door, the squirrel, who was still teasing marm and crumb in the window, Finally decided he'd pushed his luck as far as it could safely go, and ran a few feet up the nearest tree.
Bird paid no mind to him, just lumbered down the steps to find a patch of sunlight to stretch out in.
Crumb came hurtling out of the house behind us.
And I could see, by the look in his eyes, that he really thought he had a chance of catching up with his little harasser.
Oh bless, I mumbled as I carried the dust mop over to the compost pile and started shaking it out.
Dog hair and specks of dust flew out and caught in the sun and drifted away on a breeze.
Bird's eyes were already shot, his long legs stretched out in the new grass.
Crumb still barked around the base of the tree, his little limbs bouncing him up and down.
And marmalade was once again stretched out on her sill.
Tuffs of her orange fur, showing through the weave of the screen.
I heard the vacuum click on upstairs and I smiled as I headed back in to finish my chores.
Sweet dreams.
