Good evening.
I'm glad you're here.
Because tonight I'd like to introduce you to someone very special.
Her name is Shelby.
Shelby is an orange and white tabby with soft striped fur,
A snowy white belly,
And four little white feet.
Her human calls them her marshmallow toes.
And tucked beneath all that white fluff are the cutest little pink toes.
Shelby has a bright,
Curious eye and a wonderfully cautious way of moving through the world.
She's curious about almost everything.
Birds,
Chipmunks,
Butterflies.
A leaf that wasn't there yesterday.
A sound coming from the other side of the fence.
But curiosity does not necessarily mean Shelby wants to get closer.
She prefers to investigate life on her own terms.
From a comfortable distance.
Preferably with an escape route nearby.
Shelby lives with her human in Atlanta's historic Inman Park neighborhood.
Where beautiful old homes sit beneath tall trees and people still spend evenings on their porches.
Shelby doesn't know that her neighborhood is historic.
She doesn't know it's called Inland Park.
And she certainly doesn't care what year the houses were built.
She knows something much more important.
She knows this is home.
And as far as Shelby is concerned,
Her own backyard is one of the finest places in the world.
There are crepe myrtles that bloom during the long Georgia summer.
A beautiful purple hydrangea that grows large and full beside the yard.
There is soft grass for walking.
Flower beds for inspecting.
And chipmunks who make occasional appearances and then disappear with astonishing speed.
And there are birds,
So many birds.
Her human has created a little collection of feeders in the backyard that has grown into something resembling a bird feeder shrine.
Shelby considers this one of the greatest achievements of humankind.
But perhaps her favorite place of all.
Is the screened back porch.
The floor is smooth concrete and during summer days it collects the heat.
Long after the sun has disappeared,
Shelby can stretch herself across that concrete and soak up the warmth that remains.
She loves doing that.
But we'll get there.
Because every Shelby day begins somewhere else.
With breakfast.
So settle comfortably into your bed.
Feel the pillow beneath your head.
Let your shoulders soften.
Allow the mattress to support the weight of your body.
You don't have to make yourself relax.
And you certainly don't have to make yourself sleep.
Sleep will find you when it's ready.
For now.
There is only a story.
A quiet house.
A Little Backyard and Shelby.
Let's begin.
The first light of morning has barely reached the windows when Shelby opens her eyes.
The house is quiet.
She's sleeping next to her human on the bed.
Outside,
The neighborhood is still wrapped in that soft blue light that comes just before sunrise.
The dogwoods are dark shapes against the brightening sky.
The crepe myrtles barely moved.
The birds have not yet begun their full morning chorus.
Shall be stretches.
One marshmallow toe foot reaches forward.
Than the other.
Her pink toes spread for just a moment.
As her back rises into a long orange curve.
Then comes an enormous yawn.
Morning has arrived.
Which means breakfast should have also arrived.
There's only one problem.
Her human is still asleep.
Shelby finds this puzzling.
She waits.
Briefly.
Then comes the first meow.
It is encouraging rather than demanding.
Good morning.
Breakfast?
Her human does not move quickly enough.
Shelby Tries Again.
Wow.
A little more enthusiasm this time.
And yet,
There is still an unreasonable amount of sleeping happening.
Another meow follows.
And another.
Shelby is nothing if not persistent.
Eventually her human begins to stir.
This is progress.
Shelby immediately becomes more animated.
Another cheerful meow.
She heads towards the bedroom door and looks back.
Her human has not yet followed.
Shelby returns a few steps.
Meow.
C'mon.
The message could not possibly be clearer.
Finally,
Feet reach the floor.
Excellent.
Shelby trots towards the kitchen.
Then looks back.
Still coming?
Yes.
She continues.
She moves beside her human now,
Hurrying along with happy little steps.
Occasionally looking up and offering another encouraging meow or chirp.
There is an urgency to the procession.
Nothing alarming,
But breakfast has already been delayed by several minutes.
And Shelby sees no reason to compound the problem.
Into the kitchen they go.
Shelby knows exactly where her breakfast comes from.
She knows the process can be expedited with proper supervision.
She waits.
She watches with her beautiful orange eyes.
She meows a friendly reminder of encouragement.
And finally,
Breakfast.
The bowl reaches the floor.
Shelby immediately gets to work.
The urgency disappears.
There is no longer any need to manage anyone.
There is only breakfast.
The house begins awakening around her.
Morning light reaches farther into the kitchen.
Somewhere outside.
A Carolina Wren begins singing.
Then another bird answers.
But Shelby is busy.
Birds can wait.
Breakfast,
Not so much.
When she is finished,
She sits back for a moment.
The first morning major responsibility has been successfully completed.
Now there is another important matter requiring her utmost attention.
Her back.
Shelby strolls out of the kitchen and finds a comfortable place to settle herself.
One pristine white paw rises.
She begins to wash.
Slowly now.
There is none of the breakfast urgency.
Bathing requires patience.
She licks one paw and carefully passes it across her face.
Again.
And again.
Around one ear.
Across her cheeks.
Than the other side.
She washes the soft white fur on her chest.
The orange fur along her shoulder.
And eventually.
.
.
The marshmallow toes.
One little white foot is lifted into the air.
Shelby's pink toes spread apart as she carefully cleaned between them.
Every toe receives attention.
There is something wonderfully satisfying about watching a cat bathe.
No rushing.
No thinking about what comes next.
Just this paw.
This whisker.
This little patch of fur.
Shelby moves on to another marshmallow foot.
The pink toes appear again.
Her human has always thought those little feet look almost too cute to be real.
Shelby has no idea that her feet are adorable.
They are simply feet.
Useful for walking.
Useful for jumping,
Useful for chasing chipmunks.
And particularly useful for reminding sleeping humans that breakfast should have happened several minutes ago.
Eventually,
Shelby is satisfied.
Her fur is smooth.
Her face is clean.
Her whiskers are properly arranged.
Her marshmallow toes are immaculate.
Now the day can truly begin.
Outside.
The birds are waiting.
The backyard has fully awakened.
Morning sunlight filters through the dogwood leaves.
The purple hydrangea is beginning to glow where the light reaches its enormous blossoms.
The Bird Feeder Shrine.
Is already busy.
Shelby finds a comfortable viewing position.
The morning performance has begun.
A Carolina wren arrives first.
Small.
Brown.
Energetic.
And apparently convinced everyone needs to hear what she has to say.
Shelby's Eyes follower.
The Wren hops from one place to another,
Never remaining still for very long.
Then a cardinal arrives.
Bright red against all that green.
He lands on a feeder and surveys the yard.
Shelby's body lowers slightly.
Her eyes become round.
Her attention sharpens.
She would very much like to catch that cardinal.
The cardinal seems unconcerned.
Shelby's tail twitches.
Twice.
She watches.
And watches.
The cardinal selects a seed.
Than another.
Shelby makes a small,
Chattering sound.
The cardinal continues eating.
Soon,
Some chickadees arrive.
Than morning doves.
A blue jay makes an entrance with far more noise than seems necessary.
Shelby watches everyone.
This is her television channel.
And the programming is excellent.
Something moves beneath the feeders.
Shelby's attention immediately shifts.
A chipmunk.
Now,
This is serious.
The chipmunk moves through the grass.
Gathering whatever the birds have dropped.
Shelby becomes completely still.
Her body lowers.
Her marshmallow feet disappear beneath her.
Her tail stops moving.
The chipmunk pauses.
Shelby waits.
The chipmunk moves again.
Shelby moves slowly.
One paw.
Than another.
Closer.
And closer.
The chipmunk looks up.
For one tiny moment they see each other.
Then the chipmunk runs.
Shelby launches.
Across the grass she goes,
Orange and white,
Fast and focused.
Absolutely certain that this time things will be different.
The chipmunk disappears.
Shelby stops.
She looks towards the place where it vanished.
Nothing.
Not even a tail.
Shelby waits.
Still nothing.
Eventually,
She sits.
The chipmunk has won this round.
There will be others.
There are always others.
And there is plenty more to supervise.
Near the back of the yard.
Is the wooden privacy fence.
It's relatively new.
Replaced just a few years ago.
And when it was built.
One.
Unusual request was made.
A small opening.
Was deliberately created near the bottom.
Cat-sized opening.
You might call it a cat-sized doorway.
It was especially made for Shelby and her mother,
Nina.
Nina was a beautiful gray tabby.
Friendly.
Curious.
A mother cat.
In every sense of the word.
She believed everyone could occasionally use a bath and was quite happy to provide one.
Other cats,
And sometimes her humans.
Nina was also more willing than Shelby to investigate what might be on the other side of the fence.
A little doorway.
Shelby's Little Doorway.
Offered her a way to explore.
Shelby has never used it.
She visits it.
Peers through it.
And smells whatever interesting scents happen to drift through.
But crossing the boundary,
No thank you.
Today she approaches the opening and stops.
Her nose twitches.
Something interesting has definitely happened on the other side.
She leans closer.
Of Brussels.
Shelby freezes.
Her ears point forward.
Another Russell.
Possibly a bird.
A chipmunk.
Possibly something completely unacceptable.
She takes one small step backwards.
Them wait.
Nothing happens.
She moves forward again and peers through.
There is another world on the other side.
Another yard.
Different plants.
Different smells,
Different places for birds to land.
Shelby studies the yard carefully.
The opening remains available.
It has always been available.
But Shelby turns around.
There is plenty to explore right here in her own backyard.
The purple hydrangea needs inspecting.
The birds will undoubtedly return.
There is a screened porch waiting for her.
Shelby walks away without a second thought.
The little door remains behind her.
Open.
Available.
Unnecessary.
The day grows warmer.
Atlanta summer warmth settles over the backyard.
The shadows beneath the dogwoods become deeper.
Create myrtle blossoms shift gently in the occasional breeze.
The purple hydrangea grows quietly.
Beneath the afternoon sun.
Even the birds become less active.
Shelby understands this.
Afternoons are for conserving energy.
She finds a comfortable place in the shade.
Turns once.
Then again.
And settles.
Her white belly meets the cool ground.
One marshmallow toe foot stretches forward.
Than another.
Her eyes begin to close.
And the backyard continues without her supervision.
A butterfly passes.
Shelby slowly opens one eye.
Butterfly moves towards the hydrangea.
Shelby Watches.
It lands.
Opens its wing.
Closes them again.
Opens them again.
And Shelby's eye closes.
A few minutes later.
A squirrel races across the top of the fence.
Both of Shelby's eyes pop open.
The squirrel stops.
Shelby watches.
The squirrel scampers off.
Her eyes close again.
This is how summer afternoons pass.
A little sleeping,
A little watching.
A little more sleeping The sun moves across the sky slowly.
Shadows change their shape.
The hydrangea looks different from one hour to the next.
Sometimes wild.
Sometimes a blue-purple.
Sometimes almost pink.
Where the sunlight touches it.
Shelby knows every version.
The backyard might seem small to someone passing by.
Shelby has never found it small.
There is always something changing,
Something moving.
Blooming,
Something worth noticing.
Eventually,
The heat begins to loosen.
The sun is moving lower in the sky.
And Shelby stretches as she wakes up from her afternoon nap.
Late afternoon is now becoming evening.
This is Shelby's favorite time during the summer.
The screened-in porch has spent the entire day collecting more.
The smooth concrete still holds it.
Shelby steps onto the porch.
Her little pink toes meet the warm concrete.
She stops.
And savors this warmth.
This is good.
Very good.
She walks towards one of her favorite places and lowers herself down.
Her white belly stretches against the warm floor.
One orange leg extends.
Than another.
Her pink toes relax.
She becomes longer.
Flatter.
More comfortable.
The warmth from the sun being held in the concrete slowly seeps into her body.
Shelby closes her eyes.
This is one of life's great pleasures.
The sun does not need to be shining anymore.
The concrete remembers.
Even after the sun disappears,
Shelby will stay here.
Soaking up every little bit of warmth the day has left behind.
Outside the screens,
The backyard begins changing.
The birds return briefly for their evening meal.
Shall be watches from the porch.
Cardinal lands.
And a morning dove.
A few smaller birds dart between the feeders.
Shelby's eyes followed them.
But there is no chase now.
The screen stands between them.
And perhaps that makes the watching even more enjoyable.
No decisions required.
Just birds.
Her human comes onto the porch.
Perhaps with something to read or a cool drink.
Or nothing at all.
Shelby glances over.
Stretches and settles again.
This is one of those evenings when nobody needs anything.
Nothing needs fixing.
Nothing needs finishing.
It is simply the end of a summer day.
The light begins to soften outside.
The bright afternoon yellow becomes gold.
Gold becomes amber.
And shadows stretch across the sky.
The purple hydrangea.
Deepens in color.
The dogwood leaves become darker against the evening sky.
And slowly.
The neighborhood begins to exhale.
Someone walks past on the sidewalk beyond the house.
A bicycle rolls along the street.
Neighbors talk somewhere nearby.
A dog is barking in the distance.
A door closes.
The sounds come and go.
Shelby hears them all.
Sometimes an unfamiliar sound makes her head rise quickly.
Her ears turned.
Her eyes open wide.
She listens.
Weights.
Then,
When nothing concerning follows,
She settles again.
That's Shelby.
Cautious.
Watchful.
Very comfortable once she knows everything is okay.
The evening grows deeper.
The birds begin disappearing.
By a woman.
The cardinal leaves.
The chickadees vanish into the trees.
The morning doves wander away.
Even the blue jay.
Finally seems to have nothing more to announce.
The bird feeder shrine becomes quiet.
Its work is done for the day.
Cicada begins its somersault.
Than another.
Soon the trees seemed filled with the sound.
This is not silence.
But something better.
The familiar sounds of home.
Shelby stretches across the concrete.
It is still warm.
Not as warm as before.
But warm enough.
Her human remains nearby.
Shelby begins to purr.
Nothing extraordinary about her beautiful healing purr.
Just that familiar little vibration of a contented,
Happy cat.
The sound blends with the ceiling fan.
The cicadas,
The occasional rustle of leaves.
The sounds of the neighborhood.
Settling in around them.
The sky begins to change.
Shelby is the first to notice.
She often is.
Above the dogwoods.
One cloud has caught the last golden light.
Of the setting sun.
Its edge glows.
Shelby looks up.
Another cloud drifts nearby.
Than another.
The evening sky is becoming pale peach.
And lavender.
Shelby watches.
She has seen thousands of clouds.
She has watched them from windows.
From the backyard from the screened porch.
Some move quickly.
Others seem to remain in one place forever.
These clouds are moving slowly.
Very slowly One drifts near another.
Than another.
Shelby watches as they begin to form a soft curve above the trees.
Nothing dramatic happens no flash of light no sudden transformation just clouds.
And evening.
And the imagination of one very comfortable orange and white cat.
The curve becomes longer.
The last of the sunlight catches the underside of each cloud.
Gold.
Cream.
Soft peach.
Above them all the sky deepens toward blue.
Dark blue.
For just a moment,
The clouds almost look like a bridge.
A great golden bridge stretching across the evening sky.
Shelby lifts her head.
Her ears pointing forward.
The little doorway in the fence is behind her.
She has never gone through it.
And has no intention of starting tonight.
She doesn't need to.
The entire sky has come to her.
She watches from her warm porch.
Perhaps the cloud bridge leads somewhere.
Perhaps it doesn't.
Perhaps it is simply clouds arranged in exactly the right way.
At exactly the right moment.
Shelby doesn't need an explanation.
Cats rarely do.
She watches and perhaps you can watch with her.
No need to understand.
No need to decide what it means.
Just the golden clouds.
The darkening trees.
The purple hydrangea.
The warm concrete.
And Shelby.
The sky becomes darker.
The gold along the clouds begins to fade.
Silver appears in its place.
The first star becomes visible.
Than another.
Shelby's eyes are growing heavier.
The cloud bridge is still there.
But softer now.
Less distinct.
Almost dreamlike.
Shelby imagines walking across it.
Not really leaving the porch not really going anywhere.
Just the way a thought can wander while the body remains perfectly still.
In her imagination.
Her marshmallow toes step onto the first cloud.
The cloud is soft.
Warm.
The next cloud waits nearby.
In the next.
There is nowhere she has to reach.
No destination.
Only a gentle path through the evening sky.
Below.
Her backyard remains exactly where it belongs.
The bird feeder shrine.
The hydrangea,
The dark woods.
The great myrtles the wooden fence.
The little doorway.
The screened porch.
Her human.
Nothing disappears simply because we dream.
Sometimes the safest place to dream is from somewhere we already know we belong.
Shelby's eyes close.
In her mind's eye she sees Nina.
Her mother.
Not as something sad.
Not as something lost.
Simply Nina.
Gray fur moving gently through some warm remembered place.
Nina is sitting somewhere along that golden cloud path.
Giving one paw a very thorough bath.
As she looks towards Shelby.
That is enough.
No words.
No explanation,
Just be.
Recognition.
The way that love remains even when someone is no longer where they used to be.
Shelby settles more deeply onto the porch floor.
As her dream drifts on.
The concrete is cooler now.
But Shelby stays.
There is still warmth hiding deep inside it.
And she'll be intense to find every last little bit.
Her white belly rests against the floor her marshmallow toes are loose.
Her breathing has become slow and easy.
Outside.
Fireflies blink near the hydrangea.
Step 1.
Another blink.
Than darkness.
Darkness.
Then two together.
Tiny lights appearing and disappearing.
The cloud bridge has almost vanished.
The stars were made.
The neighborhood grows quieter.
A car passes somewhere behind the house.
And nothing.
A porch light switches off nearby.
Than another.
The day is releasing itself.
No need to hold on to it.
Everything that needed to happen today.
Has happened.
The birds have eaten.
The chipmunks have escaped.
The hydrangea has soaked up another day of summer sun.
The little doorway remains available for another day.
Shelby will probably choose not to use it.
Shelby has done everything a good Shelby day requires.
Breakfast.
Bird watching.
Chipmunk Chasing.
Napping.
Supervising.
Warm concrete.
Home.
Her human shifts quietly nearby.
Shelby opens one eye.
Checks that everything is fine.
And closes her eye again.
The porch fan turns slowly overhead.
Cicadas continue their summer song outside.
Shelby's purr has stopped now.
Not because anything is wrong.
She is simply drifting deeper into sleep.
Her breathing becomes the quiet rhythm of the porch.
In.
One marshmallow paw twitches.
The chipmunk has returned in her dream.
Perhaps this time Shelby catches it.
Or perhaps.
.
.
Even in dreams the chipmunk gets awake.
It doesn't matter.
There will always be tomorrow.
Another breakfast to announce.
Another bath.
Another morning performance at the bird feeder shrine.
Another patch of sunshine.
Another afternoon beneath the hydrangea.
Another warm evening on the porch.
For now.
None of that needs to happen.
For now,
Shelby sleeps.
The trees rest.
The flowers rest.
The birds rest.
The neighborhood rests.
And you can rest too.
There is nowhere else you need to be.
Nothing else you need to finish.
No thought that needs an answer tonight.
But tomorrow remains.
Tomorrow.
Let the day that has already happened become complete.
Feel the bed beneath you.
Pillows supporting you.
Blankets around you.
Allow yourself to become heavy.
Warm.
Quiet.
You don't have to find sleep Sleep already knows where you are.
Shelby's breathing grows slower.
The last warmth of the summer day lingers beneath her.
The stars shine quietly upon the dogwoods.
And somewhere.
In that soft place between waking and dreaming.
The Golden Cloud Bridge is still there.
Not asking anyone to cross.
Not leading anywhere in particular.
Simply reminding us that something ordinary can become beautiful.
When we stay long enough.
To notice it.
Shelby gives one small sleepy sigh.
Her whiskers relax.
Her white belly rises and falls.
One little pink toe peeks out from beneath a marshmallow paw.
The backyard is quiet.
The porch is safe.
Her human is near.
Shall be.
Is home.
And perhaps.
.
.
Bye now.
You are already beginning to dream with her.
So there is nothing more.
You need to do.
Just rest.
And let the night carry you from here.
