During the night the rain tapped a mesmerizing spell into my brain, and I feel as if I never really woke up today. I reluctantly emerged this morning from my cozy world of jersey-knit purple sheets and down comforter and scuffled, disoriented, into the kitchen for breakfast. I stop and stare outside – it seems so dark it can’t be right. The last of the leftover pumpkin pie from Thanksgiving jiggles at me provocatively from a shiny red plate at the table, while Joe spoons cereal into his mouth, munching away, the sound like heavy boots on gravel marching with purpose. He’s full of energy and has already greeted the day with a smile. I rub my blurry eyes and focus on him with suspicion. Alien. The pie is smooth and rich, and I’m delighted to offer the Beggar Cat posed like a picture of cat virtue next to me a fingertip-full to see if she’ll eat it. She delicately licks it up, sits patiently for a round-shining-amber-eyed, unblinking second looking at me expectantly, then reaches a paw up to tap my arm for more. I take it as a compliment to the cook. I give her more. Fur and flattery will get you everywhere.
Instead of washing the dishes I retreat back into my sleep-nest, for just a few more minutes of delicious lingering. The sheets are still warm, the drapes at the end of the bed still drawn closed to protect my vampire sensitive eyes from the skylight, my breath against the pillow is pleasantly spicy with nutmeg and cinnamon. Only the thought of preparing payroll for work gets me up and padding across the heated bamboo floor to the shower, which is the next temptation to linger. I embrace the hot water and steam and muse over a new bar of goat’s milk soap we bought from an artisan over the weekend, who told us about her nine goats as I listened jealously, longing for a life where I too could raise adorable goats prancing about with spunky personalities with names like Vladimir and Spike, making all manner of goat milk products like cheese, yogurt and skin-friendly soap.
I precariously step across same Beggar Cat stretched across the bath mat and dry off with a toasty towel from the towel-warming rack, feeling oddly unhurried, luxuriating in sensation every step of the way this morning. I reach into the armoire tumbling my sweaters about because I like the fuzzy disorder. I shake out the one I pick, because I have a bad habit of allowing the cats to jump up and nuzzle in amongst the coze. I imagine their purring contentment burrowed in what must be like a cupboard full of sleeping kittens. Musk oil dabbed onto my wrists and behind my ears ensures I’ll have the warmth of home with me the remainder of the day.
In the kitchen, Joe has prepped my to-go mug with a smidge of sugar and a dollop of cream ready for me to pour the espresso from the pot when I’m ready to go. After I wash the neglected dishes I knock the mug over with my elbow and turn to see a puddle of cream (albeit non-fat half-and-half, which is what exactly, when you think about it?) cascading down the cupboard to the floor, amazingly thick, like paint. Apparently I’m still under the Rain Mesmer Spell because I watch a minute, sponge in hand, as it travels down the recently polished wood. It’s soooo shiny and Elmer’s glue white I briefly wonder if that’s what it is, and where it will go, when it will stop.
Finally I set the alarm and am outside locking the door, but I turn to watch the rain flow down the rain chain of iron fish, framed by luscious bamboo, all healthy vibrant green with glossy black canes. I take a moment to breathe in the fresh air, somehow successfully ignoring the incessant beeping of the alarm inches away on the other side of the red painted door. When I get in the car and warm everything up in there, easing back into the heated leather seat, I realize I have left my freshly filled coffee mug in the house.
The drive to work feels muffled, unmemorable, like one of those fake kiddy-trains in parks where the conductor looks freakishly large in comparison – I just hook up to the car in front of me and get dragged along somehow the five miles to work. Once inside I allow myself my first sip of the retrieved coffee and let wakefulness seep in.