I like napping on purpose in the middle of day, crawling into bed while it’s still bright sun outside, leaving the bedroom door open so any of the seven animals living in the house can get up on the bed with me (except Clara, she’s too big and kicky to share the bed — she goes into her crate and lies on her back). I like having the kittens play bedmice with my feet (they sleep in the yarn room at night because I am a light sleeper and all they really need is each other, anyway). I like when they sleep pressed against me, surprised to be allowed up with me. I like when Digit pushes them out of his way with a hiss and half-hearted swipe as he stalks to his rightful place next to my head (where he sleeps every night, my wakefulness bedamned). I like when Harriet demands to be picked up and placed on the bed (she must be getting shorter — at 16 she usually can’t quite jump up on her own anymore), and I like when Miss Idaho scrambles under the covers and curls up behind my knees. I like when we are a big bed full of sleeping things together. I like the sun against the curtain. I like the noise from the high school track across the creek. I like the sound of planes overhead and distant, bored-sounding barking dogs. I like reading, lying on my side, until the book drops from my hand.
I didn’t do any of this today, because I don’t try to nap on days when I have to go to bed early for work. And I was too busy running errands and getting the brakes fixed and cleaning the house and doing laundry on my one day off. But boy, did I think about it. I can’t wait for a napping day. I like to think about napping.