Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Marmalade and Crumb

Episode Date: September 13, 2021

Our story tonight is called “Marmalade and Crumb” and it’s a story about a face looking up at you from a newspaper, its also about a new collar and leash, a first meeting that feels like a reunion and trusting your heart when it steers you in a direction you didn’t expect. Buy the book Get beautiful NMH merch Get autographed copies Get our ad-free and bonus episodesPurchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. You can hear bonus and ad-free episodes of this podcast by subscribing to our premium or premium plus feeds. Learn more at nothingmuchhappens.com.

Has this ever happened to you? You're in bed, reading your book, and maybe even scrunched up in a not-so-comfortable position, but you can't keep your eyes open. Then you turn off the light, get as snug as possible, and suddenly you can't sleep. What happened in those few seconds is that your brain switched from task mode to default mode. It's pretty tricky to fall asleep in default mode, and that's why I have a story to tell you. I'll tell your story twice, and I'll go a bit slower the second time through.

If you wake in the middle of the night and feel your brain starting to power back up. You could listen again, or just think through any parts of the story that you can remember. With time, this will all become more automatic, and you'll notice your sleep improving more and more. Now, it's time to get comfortable. Switch off your light. Snuggle your body down into the sheets

and feel how good it is to be in bed. Let my voice be a sort of guardian. I'm taking the next watch, so you can let go. Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Nice. Let's do that one more time. Nice.

Let's do that one more time. In. In. And out. Good. Our story tonight is called Marmalade and Crumb. And it's a story about a face looking up at you from a newspaper. It's also about a new collar and leash, a first meeting that feels like a reunion,

and trusting your heart when it steers you in a direction you didn't expect. Marmalade and Crumb We'd seen his picture in the paper. Marmalade and I had been flipping through the pages on the couch. I was reading, and she was swatting at the edges of the paper. I realized, as I watched her trying to clamp her paw over the weather report, that she must be almost a year old by now.

We'd found each other the year before, on the first snowfall of the year, and the vet said she was likely two months old then. I reached out to scratch her ears. Her collar felt a bit small around her neck she was growing fast the back door was open beside us and a breeze rose up all of a sudden the paper in my lap danced in the wind

the pages flipping and fluttering marmalade pounced on them gleefully, and I laughed, tugging it away from her as she chased. When I finally got it back, she'd torn out a scrap that clung to one claw. She shook it in the air, a confused look on her face, and I laughed again as I reached out to carefully detangle it.

That's when we saw him. His face looked up at us from the torn scrap of paper. A little brown dog with wiry hair and stilty legs. He looked like his whole body would bounce when he barked. He looked like he was ready for an adventure. He looked like he would carry a stick twice his size for blocks and never stop wagging his tail. I fitted the torn piece back into the paper, reading that he was too, of indeterminate breed looking for a family and named Crumb since he was many shades of brown and his wiry hair stood out all over

making him look a bit crunchy. The paper said he would be at the pet store downtown with his fellow adoptees all day today if anyone was interested in meeting him. I looked at Marmalade. She looked at me. We both looked down at Crumb. I bit my lip, thinking of how Marmee loved to jump at toast when it came popping out of the toaster.

How our mornings had already been full of crumbs. And couldn't we make room for just one more? I pulled her into my lap and thought again that her collar was a bit tight. I needed to go to the pet store anyway to pick out a new one for her. What would be the harm in stopping to shake paws with Crumb while I was there? Driving over, I had butterflies in my stomach

and drummed my fingers on the wheel, impatient for the lights to change and traffic to move. I think I knew already, probably had as soon as I'd seen his little face, with the light brown dots in his eyebrows and his scraggly whiskers and funny snaggletooth, that it was already a done deal. I knew that Marmalade liked dogs in general. She had a giant greyhound friend who she'd played and snuggled with since she was a kitten and had met a few others, all with good results.

She liked to play, and older dogs seemed happy to let her. She'd chase their tails or pounce on them when they slept, and they often barely opened one eye to watch her do it. Young dogs played right along with her and she liked that as well She'd outsmarted my brother's basset hound reaching one sly orange-rippled paw

out from under the sofa to swipe his toys while he looked the other way and had been well-pleased with herself afterward. When I pulled up to the shop, I saw signs for the rescue that was holding the adoption fair posted at the street, and counted the cars in the parking spots, worried that I might already be too late.

What if Crumb had gone home with somebody else? I remembered feeling the same way that day I'd first seen Marmee's paw prints in the snow. Not possessive, but surely protective. I hadn't wanted to stand in the way of someone else's feline love connection, but I had simply felt, down deep in my bones that the lever of those little prints was already my cat and when I opened the door

to find her waiting on the step it was a family reunion I tried not to get ahead of myself with Crumb, but the feeling was the same. If someone else had filled out an application for him, well, it was understandable, but it was simply a mistake. I stepped inside and pretended I was going to get the collar first.

I even made it halfway down an aisle, but then took a quick turn and headed toward the back, where I could hear a few barks and bays. There were volunteers in yellow t-shirts, a few kitties and carriers, and a playpen full of puppies. A couple of people were bending over them with clipboards in their hands, clearly ready to adopt. My eyes went searching for crumb. Most of the crates were already empty, their occupants having found their people and gone home. I squatted down beside a crate, with his name hand-printed on a tag and peered in, but there was no crumb inside. I let out a sigh and bit my lip again. Oh well, I started to say to myself, maybe it wasn't meant to be, but I didn't believe it. I pushed my palm against my thigh, easing my body up from the floor and hoping wherever he was, he was happy and safe. Then I saw him.

He was sitting in the lap of one of the volunteers, getting petted and looking straight at me, wagging his tail like he'd been waiting all day for me to show up. I sat down in the folding chair beside him, and he jumped from his foster's lap straight into mine. She laughed, handing me over his leash and saying, Let me introduce you. This is Crumb, I finished, smiling up at her.

We saw him in the paper. All good, she said. He hasn't had any visitors yet today, so he was feeling a bit left out. I scratched his ears, and he leaned into me, tilting his cheek up and letting me get under his chin with my fingernails. One back leg began thumping away as I scratched, and I was laughing again. He was little, like a heavy loaf of bread, and his weight felt good in my arms. He had pale, hazel eyes and a stout, small body and did indeed bounce when he barked. He let me toss a squeaky ball for him,

which he chased down and brought back to me for more. I thought he would be a perfect match for Marmy. They could hide each other's toys and fight over who got which bed by the fire this winter. He hopped back up into my lap and laid down, his paws hanging off my leg and panting a little. He rested his chin on his paws and was instantly relaxed. My heart was brimming, and as I stroked his back, I was already thinking about what color collar to get him. Would he need a sweater for the cool weather?

His own set of dishes and a bed, of course. horse. The volunteer who had been watching us held out a clipboard with his name across the top and raised her eyebrows. I slipped the handle of his leash over my wrist so he couldn't get away from me as I reached out for it. We would be a family of three. Marmalade and Crumb. We'd seen his picture in the paper. Marmalade and I had been flipping through the pages on the couch. I was reading, and she was swat to clamp her paw over the weather report, that she must be almost a year old by now. We'd found each other the year before, on the first snowfall of the year. And the vet said she was likely two months old then. I reached out to scratch around her ears. Her collar felt a bit small around her neck. She was growing fast. The back door

was open beside us, and a breeze rose up all of a sudden. The paper in my lap danced in the wind the pages flipping and fluttering marmalade pounced on them gleefully and I laughed tugging it away from her as she chased. When I finally got it back she'd torn out a scrap that clung to one claw. She shook it in the air

a confused look on her face. And I laughed again as I reached out to carefully detangle it. That's when we saw him. His face looked up at us from the torn piece of paper. A little brown dog with wiry hair and stilty legs. He looked like his whole body would bounce when he barked. He looked like he was ready for an adventure. He looked like he would carry a stick twice his size for blocks and never stop wagging his tail.

I fitted the torn piece back into the paper, reading that he was too of indeterminate breed, looking for a family, and named Crumb, since he was many shades of brown, and his wiry hair stood out all over, making him look a bit crunchy.

The paper said that he would be at the pet store downtown with his fellow adoptees all day today if anyone was interested in meeting

him. I looked at Marmalade She looked at me We both looked down at Crumb I bit my lip Thinking of how Marmy loved to jump at toast When it came popping out of the toaster. How our mornings had already been full of crumbs.

And couldn't we make room for just one more? I pulled her into my lap and thought again that her collar was a bit tight. I needed to go to the pet store anyway to pick out a new one for her. What would be the harm in stopping to shake paws with Crumb while I was there. Driving over, I had butterflies in my stomach

and drummed my fingers on the wheel, impatient for the lights to change and traffic to move. I think I knew already, probably had, as soon as I'd seen his little face, with the light brown dots in his eyebrows and his scraggly whiskers and bunny snaggletooth, that it was already a done deal. I knew that Marmalade liked dogs in general.

She had a giant greyhound friend who she'd played and snuggled with since she was a kitten. And had met a few others, all with good results. She liked to play, and older dogs seemed happy to let her. She'd chase their tails or pounce on them while they slept. And they often barely opened one eye to watch her do it. Young dogs played right along with her, and she liked that as well. She'd outsmarted my brother's basset hound,

reaching one sly, orange-rippled paw out from under the sofa to swipe his toys while he looked the other way and had been well-pleased with herself afterwards. When I pulled up to the shop, I saw signs for the rescue that was holding the adoption fair posted at the street, and counted the cars in the parking spots, worried that I might already be too late. What if Crumb had gone home with somebody else? I remembered feeling the same way the day I'd first seen Marmee's paw prints in the snow. Not possessive, but surely protective.

I hadn't wanted to stand in the way of someone else's feline love connection. But I had simply felt, down deep in my bones, that the lever of those little prints was already my cat. And when I opened the door to find her waiting on the step, it was a family reunion. I tried not to get ahead of myself with crumb, but the feeling was the same. If someone else had filled out an application for him,

well, it was understandable, but it was simply a mistake. I stepped inside and pretended I was going to get the collar first. I even made it halfway down an aisle. But then took a quick turn and headed toward the back where I could hear a few barks and bays. There were volunteers in yellow t-shirts, a few kitties in carriers, and a playpen full of puppies. A couple of people were bending over them with clipboards in their hands, clearly ready to adopt. My eyes went searching for crumb.

Most of the crates were already empty, their occupants having found their people and gone home. I squatted down beside a crate with his name hand-printed on a tag and peered in, but there was no crumb inside. I let out a sigh, bit my lip again. Oh well, I started to say to myself. Maybe it wasn't meant to be, but I didn't believe it. I pushed my palm against my thigh, easing my body up from the floor, and hoping that wherever he was, he was happy and safe. And then I saw him. He was sitting in the lap of one of the volunteers,

getting petted and looking straight at me, wagging his tail like he'd been waiting all day for me to show up. I sat down in the folding chair beside him, and he jumped from his foster's lap straight into mine. She laughed, handing me over his leash and saying let me introduce you this is Crumb

I finished smiling up at her we saw him in the paper oh good she said he hasn't had any visitors yet today, "'so he was feeling a bit left out. "'I scratched his ears, and he leaned into me, "'tilting his cheek up and letting me get under his chin

"'with my fingernails. One back leg began thumping away as I scratched, and I was laughing again. He was little, like a heavy loaf of bread, and his weight felt good in my arms. He had pale, hazel eyes, and a stout, small body, and did indeed bounce when he barked. He let me toss a squeaky ball for him, which he chased down and brought back to me for more. I thought he would be the perfect match for Marmy.

They could hide each other's toys and fight over who got which bed by the fire this winter. He hopped back up into my lap and laid down, his paws hanging off my leg and panting a little. He rested his chin on his paws and was instantly relaxed. My heart was brimming, and as I stroked his back, I was already thinking about what color collar to get him. Would he need a sweater for the cool weather? His own set of dishes and a bed, of course. The volunteer who had been watching held out a clipboard with his name across the top and raised her eyebrows. I slipped the handle of his leash over my wrist so he couldn't get away from me

as I reached out for it. We would be a family of three. Sweet dreams.