Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. Now is a particularly good
Speaker 1: time to follow us on Twitter or Instagram or Facebook.
Speaker 1: We'll have some exciting announcements coming up in the next
Speaker 1: few weeks, and I don't want you to miss out
Speaker 1: of them, as well as regular doses of cozy photos
Speaker 1: and illustrations and small minders from Me to Breathe Now.
Speaker 1: This podcast works by giving your mind a place to rest,
Speaker 1: something soothing and simple to focus on, so that the
Speaker 1: background static goes quiet and you can relax and sleep.
Speaker 1: I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little
Speaker 1: slower on the second read through. Just follow along with
Speaker 1: the sound of my voice and the gentle details of
Speaker 1: the tale, and before you know it, you'll be waking
Speaker 1: up tomorrow feeling refreshed and rested. If you wake in
Speaker 1: the middle of the night, take your mind right back
Speaker 1: to any of the details you can remember, and you'll
Speaker 1: drop right back off. This is brain training, so be
Speaker 1: patient as we plant these seeds. Now it's time to
Speaker 1: turn off your light and put away anything you were
Speaker 1: looking at. Prioritize your own comfort right now, getting the
Speaker 1: right pillow in the right spot and pulling your comforter
Speaker 1: up over your shoulder. You are about to fall asleep,
Speaker 1: and you will sleep deeply all night. Take a slow
Speaker 1: breath in through your nose and let it out with
Speaker 1: a sigh. Once more, breathe in, let it out good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called Toast and Marmalade, and it's
Speaker 1: a story about the first few months of a lifelong friendship.
Speaker 1: It's also about a collar with a bell on it,
Speaker 1: letting go of what ifs, and the joy of watching
Speaker 1: someone discover a year of firsts. Toast and Marmalade, it
Speaker 1: had only been a few months since we met, but
Speaker 1: we both knew this was it. This was love, and
Speaker 1: it had been from that day in the early winter,
Speaker 1: the first snowfall, and I'd found her pawprints at my
Speaker 1: front door, when I'd rigged up a makeshift bed from
Speaker 1: a cardboard box and bribed her with a big bowl
Speaker 1: of kibble. We'd been missing each other like two ships
Speaker 1: in the night. But then finally i'd heard a high,
Speaker 1: small meal, and when I opened the door, she'd raced
Speaker 1: right in. Since then, we'd been together. That first night,
Speaker 1: she curled up in front of the fire, and I
Speaker 1: curled up around her, and we'd stayed like that for
Speaker 1: a while. I didn't know how long she'd been outside,
Speaker 1: but by how deeply she slept, by how much she
Speaker 1: reveled in a warm bed, and how many bowls of
Speaker 1: kitten chow we went through, I guessed it had been
Speaker 1: a while. It was the best feeling to tell her,
Speaker 1: even if she couldn't quite understand me, that she'd never
Speaker 1: be hungry again, never be without a soft place to lay,
Speaker 1: or without company if she wanted it, and she did.
Speaker 1: She followed me through the house. Wherever I went, she
Speaker 1: wound through my ankles. When I stood peeling carrots at
Speaker 1: the sink. She helped me make the bed, diving out
Speaker 1: from between blankets to pounce on my fingers as they
Speaker 1: smoothed the sheets. She sat with me while we watched
Speaker 1: the snow melt and the birds come back to the
Speaker 1: bushes and shrubs in the back yard. We were mostly inseparable,
Speaker 1: although she had been a bit cross with me. After
Speaker 1: her first visit with the doctor. She howled all the
Speaker 1: way home, then ran straight out of her carrier to
Speaker 1: pout under the bed for a few hours. But by
Speaker 1: the time I had our fire going in the living room,
Speaker 1: she'd inched out to take her place on the sofa
Speaker 1: and allowed me to lay a hand on her back.
Speaker 1: I'd made it up to her with a bit of shopping.
Speaker 1: She got new bowls to eat her meals from, a
Speaker 1: new bed that had a flap like an envelope that
Speaker 1: she loved to tuck herself into, and a sweet little collar.
Speaker 1: Weed disgust color options what would go best with her
Speaker 1: orange red fur, and found a pretty paisley one and
Speaker 1: shades of yellow and cream. It had a tiny bell
Speaker 1: that rang as she pounced through the halls, and a
Speaker 1: small charm with her name Marmalade on the front and
Speaker 1: my number on the back. She was still a kitten,
Speaker 1: and it had been so long since I'd had a kitten,
Speaker 1: I'd forgotten the pure fun that came with that. She
Speaker 1: made a game of everything. I'd bought her a basketful
Speaker 1: of toys, stuffed mice, and feathers on strings, and while
Speaker 1: I often found them carefully tucked inside the flap of
Speaker 1: her bed, I imagined her like a dragon sitting on
Speaker 1: her goal. She was just as happy to play with
Speaker 1: pencils from my desk, or jump at dangling sleeves of
Speaker 1: sweaters as I attempted to get them onto hangers in
Speaker 1: the laundry room. I most liked to watch her discover
Speaker 1: something for the first time. Once, while I was running
Speaker 1: a bath, she climbed up onto the radiator beside it,
Speaker 1: and I scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew
Speaker 1: them into the air. Her head twitched back and forth,
Speaker 1: watching them as they scattered and fell. She reached out
Speaker 1: her curious nose, and only her kiddy reflexes had kept
Speaker 1: her from tumbling into the water. Along with her wariness
Speaker 1: of the tub, she developed a contentious early ship with
Speaker 1: the toaster. The first time a piece of bread had
Speaker 1: come springing up out of it, she jumped a mile
Speaker 1: as she tried to catch it and simultaneously get away
Speaker 1: from it. I hadn't laughed like that and so long.
Speaker 1: Another day, a friend had come visiting with his sweet,
Speaker 1: gentle giant of a greyhound, Marmalade's eyes widened comically as
Speaker 1: he trotted into the living room. She watched him from
Speaker 1: her perch on the window sill for as long as
Speaker 1: she could stand, and gave into her curiosity and dropped
Speaker 1: down to sneak closer. The dog, a senior and a
Speaker 1: rescue himself, who, by my friend's account, liked nothing so
Speaker 1: much as spending nearly every hour of the day dozing
Speaker 1: in various spots around the house, had found a patch
Speaker 1: of sunlight on the rug and stretched out languorously on
Speaker 1: his side. Marmalade crept closer inch by inch, then dug
Speaker 1: her nails into the carpet and pulled herself back like
Speaker 1: a rubber band about to be shot across the room.
Speaker 1: When the dog didn't so much as look at her,
Speaker 1: she changed tack and stepped up closer, striding through his
Speaker 1: long legs, eventually coming to nestle into the curved space
Speaker 1: behind his front paws. She sidled closer until she was
Speaker 1: pressed tight against him, and promptly fell asleep. My friend
Speaker 1: and I had left them to it and went to
Speaker 1: have lunch at the kitchen table. When we poked our
Speaker 1: heads back in in an hour, they were just where
Speaker 1: we'd left them, and now we scheduled regular nap dates
Speaker 1: for the two of them. As the spring weather got warmer,
Speaker 1: we spent time on the screened in porch off the kitchen.
Speaker 1: It was on the east side of the house and
Speaker 1: caught all the morning sunlight not blocked by the trees,
Speaker 1: so it was often warmer than the house itself. This morning,
Speaker 1: I'd noticed that the Forsithia shrub in the far corner
Speaker 1: of the yard was in full bloom. She watched me
Speaker 1: as I strode out in my mud boots with my
Speaker 1: garden shears and came back a minute later with a
Speaker 1: basket full of branches lined with cheery yellow flowers. She
Speaker 1: followed me to the kitchen and hopped up on to
Speaker 1: the counter as I pulled an old ceramic pitcher down
Speaker 1: from the cupboard. As I let the water warm best
Speaker 1: to keep the blooms open, she reached a cautious paw
Speaker 1: out to play in the stream. I filled the pitcher
Speaker 1: and settled the branches into place. I carried it back
Speaker 1: out to the screened in porch and set it on
Speaker 1: a table beside my favorite chair. I went back in
Speaker 1: and dropped a couple pieces of bread into the toaster
Speaker 1: for breakfast. As I watched her jump up beside the
Speaker 1: for Scythia, she sat regarding the flowers, with all four
Speaker 1: paws in a row and her tail curled around them.
Speaker 1: I realized that since she'd been home, we hadn't had
Speaker 1: a vase of flowers out. She'd seen the Christmas tree
Speaker 1: and been fascinated by it, but I'd skipped buying point
Speaker 1: Setia's afraid she would chew on them. The vet thought
Speaker 1: she'd likely been born in early autumn, so these might
Speaker 1: be the first flowers she'd ever seen. I watched her
Speaker 1: stretch her short furry neck out toward the blooms. She
Speaker 1: let them drape over her cheek and forehead, and just
Speaker 1: stayed very still with her eyes closed. I smiled in
Speaker 1: the kitchen, thinking of all the moments she'd made me
Speaker 1: laugh or gasp or marvel at her. I felt so
Speaker 1: lucky that she picked my door that snowy day. I'd
Speaker 1: heard once that dogs don't do what ifs, and I
Speaker 1: hoped it was the same with cats. What if I
Speaker 1: hadn't been home, what if the snow had been heavier,
Speaker 1: the night colder. She didn't worry about such things. She
Speaker 1: just sat her face draped in tiny yellow flowers, breathing
Speaker 1: in the sweet almond scent of them, the toast about
Speaker 1: to pop up and make her jump for the next
Speaker 1: exciting moment of her life here at home toast and marmalade.
Speaker 1: It had only been a few months since we met,
Speaker 1: but we both knew this was it. This was love,
Speaker 1: and it had been from that day in the early winter,
Speaker 1: the first snowfall, when I'd found her paw prints at
Speaker 1: my front door, when I'd rigged up a makeshift bed
Speaker 1: from a cardboard box and bribed her with a big
Speaker 1: bowl of kibble. We'd been missing each other like two
Speaker 1: ships in the night, but then finally I'd heard a high,
Speaker 1: small meow, and when I opened the door, she'd raced
Speaker 1: right in. Since then, we'd been together. That first night,
Speaker 1: she'd curled up in front of the fire, and I'd
Speaker 1: curled up around her, and we'd stayed like that for
Speaker 1: a while. I didn't know how long she'd been outside,
Speaker 1: but by how deeply she slept, by how much she
Speaker 1: reveled in a warm bed, and how many bowls of
Speaker 1: kitten chow we went through, I guessed it had been
Speaker 1: a while. It was the best feeling to tell her,
Speaker 1: even if she couldn't quite understand me, that she would
Speaker 1: never be hungry again, never be without a soft place
Speaker 1: to lay, or without company if she wanted it, and
Speaker 1: she did. She followed me through the house wherever I went,
Speaker 1: she wound through my ankles. When I stood pealing carrots
Speaker 1: at the sink. She helped me make the bed, diving
Speaker 1: out from between blankets to pounce on my fingers as
Speaker 1: they smoothed the sheets. She sat with me while we
Speaker 1: watched the snow melt and the birds come back to
Speaker 1: the bushes and shrubs in the back yard. We were
Speaker 1: mostly inseparable, although she had been a bit cross with
Speaker 1: me after her first visit with the doctor. She'd howled
Speaker 1: all the way home, then run straight out of her
Speaker 1: carrier to pout under the bed for a few hours.
Speaker 1: But by the time I had our fire going in
Speaker 1: the living room, she inched out to take her place
Speaker 1: on the sofa and allowed me to lay a hand
Speaker 1: on her back. I'd made it up to her with
Speaker 1: a bit of shopping. She got new bowls to eat
Speaker 1: her meals from a new bed that had a flap
Speaker 1: like an envelope that she loved to tuck herself into
Speaker 1: and a sweet little collar. Weed discussed color options what
Speaker 1: would go best with her orange red fur, and found
Speaker 1: a pretty paisley one in shades of yellow and cream.
Speaker 1: It had a tiny bell that rang as she pounced
Speaker 1: through the halls, and a small charm with her name
Speaker 1: Marmalade on the front and my number on the back.
Speaker 1: She was still a kitten, and it had been so
Speaker 1: long since I had had a kitten, I'd forgotten the
Speaker 1: pure fun that came with that. She made a game
Speaker 1: of everything. I'd bought her a basket full of toys,
Speaker 1: stuffed mice and feathers on strings, and while I often
Speaker 1: found them carefully tucked inside the flap of her bed,
Speaker 1: I imagined her like a dragon sitting on her gold.
Speaker 1: She was just as happy to play with pencils from
Speaker 1: my desk, or jump at dangling sleeves of sweaters as
Speaker 1: I attempted to get them on too hangars in the
Speaker 1: laundry room. I most liked to watch her discover something
Speaker 1: for the first time. Once, while I was running a bath,
Speaker 1: she climbed up onto the radiator beside it, and I
Speaker 1: scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them into
Speaker 1: the air. Her head twitched back and forth, watching them
Speaker 1: as they scattered and fell. She reached out her curious nose,
Speaker 1: and only her kitty reflexes had kept her from tumbling
Speaker 1: into the water. Along with her wariness of the tub,
Speaker 1: she developed a contentious relationship with the toaster. The first
Speaker 1: time a piece of bread had come springing up out
Speaker 1: of it, she jumped a mile as she tried to
Speaker 1: catch it and simultaneously get away from it. I hadn't
Speaker 1: laughed like that and so long. Another day, a friend
Speaker 1: had come visiting with his sweet, gentle giant of a greyhound.
Speaker 1: Marmalade's eyes widened comically as he trotted into the living room.
Speaker 1: She watched him from her perch on the window sill
Speaker 1: for as long as she could stand, then gave into
Speaker 1: her curiosity and dropped down to sneak closer. The dog,
Speaker 1: a senior and a rescue himself, who, by my friend's account,
Speaker 1: liked nothing so much. I spending nearly every hour of
Speaker 1: the day dozing in various spots around the house, had
Speaker 1: found a patch of sunlight on the rug and stretched
Speaker 1: out languorously on his side. Marmalade crept closer inch by inch,
Speaker 1: then dug her nails into the carpet and pulled herself
Speaker 1: back like a rubber band about to be shot across
Speaker 1: the room. When the dog didn't so much as look
Speaker 1: at her, she changed tack and stepped up closer, striding
Speaker 1: through his long legs, eventually coming to nestle into the
Speaker 1: curved space behind his front paws. She sidled closer until
Speaker 1: she was pressed tight against him, and promptly fell asleep.
Speaker 1: My friend and I had left them to it and
Speaker 1: went to have lunch at the kitchen table. When we
Speaker 1: poked our heads back in an hour later, they were
Speaker 1: just where we'd left them, and now we scheduled regular
Speaker 1: nap dates for the two of them. As the spring
Speaker 1: weather got warmer, we spent time on the screened in
Speaker 1: porch off the kitchen. It was on the east side
Speaker 1: of the house and caught all the morning sunlight not
Speaker 1: blocked by the trees, so it was often warmer than
Speaker 1: the house itself. This morning, I'd noticed that the Forsithia
Speaker 1: shrub in the far corner of the yard was in
Speaker 1: full bloom. She watched me as I strode out in
Speaker 1: my mud boots with my garden shears and came back
Speaker 1: a minute later with a basket full of branches lined
Speaker 1: with cheery yellow flowers. She follow'd me to the kitchen
Speaker 1: and hopped up on to the counter as I pulled
Speaker 1: an old ceramic pitcher down from the cupboard. As I
Speaker 1: let the water warm best to keep the blooms open,
Speaker 1: she reached a cautious paw out to play in the stream.
Speaker 1: I filled the pitcher and settled the branches into place.
Speaker 1: I carried it back out to the screened in porch
Speaker 1: I had set it on a table beside my favorite chair.
Speaker 1: I went back in and dropped a couple of pieces
Speaker 1: of bread into the toaster for breakfast. As I walked,
Speaker 1: watched her jump up beside the forsythia. She sat regarding
Speaker 1: the flowers, with all four paws in a row and
Speaker 1: her tail curled around them. I realized that since she'd
Speaker 1: been home, we hadn't had a vase of flowers out.
Speaker 1: She'd seen the Christmas tree and been fascinated by it,
Speaker 1: but I'd skipped buying point setias, afraid that she would
Speaker 1: chew on them. The vet thought she'd likely been born
Speaker 1: in early autumn, so these might be the first flowers
Speaker 1: she'd ever seen. I watched her stretch her short, furry
Speaker 1: neck out toward the blooms. She let them drape over
Speaker 1: her cheek and forehead, and just stayed very still with
Speaker 1: her eyes closed. I smiled in the kitchen, thinking of
Speaker 1: all the moments she'd made me laugh or gasp or
Speaker 1: marvel at her, and felt so lucky that she'd pick'd
Speaker 1: my door that snowy day. I'd heard once that dogs
Speaker 1: don't do what ifs, and I hoped it was the
Speaker 1: same with cats. What if I hadn't been home, What
Speaker 1: if the snow had been heavier, the night colder. She
Speaker 1: didn't worry about such things. She just sat her face
Speaker 1: draped and tiny yellow flowers, breathing in the sweet almond
Speaker 1: scent of them. The toast about to pop up and
Speaker 1: make her jump for the next exciting moment of her
Speaker 1: life here at home. Sweet dreams,