The Sleep That Rescues*

“What’s going on?” Mum says, walking into my room, sitting on the edge of my bed.  “It’s six o’clock.”

Sitting up in bed, rubbing my eyes, I say: “what time are the guests coming?”  Wow.  Six o’clock: I’ve been asleep for three and a half hours.

“Seven.  And you’ve got to have a bath and write your blog before then,” Mum says.  “And tidy up in here.”

“OK,” I say to Mum’s retreating figure.

“Why can’t we go back to your flat?” The panther says, stretching. He pushes his front legs out in front of him, sticks his bum up in the air and arches his back.

“Because I need a rest,” I say.

“But we’ve been here for days,” the panther says, scratching down the wall behind me with huge claws.  “It’s too cold here.  I’m a tropical creature.”

“We’ll return to the flat when I want to,” I say, pulling my furry blanket into the living room and placing it on the sofa.

“All you do is sleep,” the panther says, jumping up onto the back of the sofa and walking along it, waving his tail back and forth for balance.  “That’s why you’re so fat.”

“I’ve done quite a lot this week actually,” I say, huddling under my blanket. “Three training sessions at the gym, two days at the office, my course…”

“Seb’s gone off you, I see,” the panther says.  He’s stretched along the back of the sofa with his tail dangling down in front.  

“He hasn’t,” I say.  “He calls everyday.”

“He’s not here though,” the panther says, turning his head to lick his shoulder.  “Actions speak louder than words and…”

“He’s away with his siblings for the weekend,” I say.  “They’re in some cottage with no electricity so…”

“His siblings?” The panther says, lunging at his tail with his jaws.  “His eighteen year old new squeeze more likely.”

“Stop it,” I say.  “I have to write the blog.”

The photo is Mum’s liquidambar.

Happy Friday everyone!

*2009. By C.J. Henderson. A supernatural detective novel starring Teddy London.

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