my own tabby aslan

i always know i am my most wound up about life when i am awake between the hours of 3am and 6am for any prolong period of time. right now it's half past 5 and i've been up for the last hour at least, watching the room slide from one shade of grey to another, getting lighter in slow increments.

and wiley has turned into a far better bed partner than i possibly could have imagined at 1am.

the nocturnal roof residents of this house have been skittering loudly in front of my windows all morning {the ostensible reason for being awake}. they have been so noisome, in fact, that i have even sat up several times to make sure they haven't pushed open the unlatched window in the process of making some daring, nihm-like burglary for a power-cord, the flesh on my slightly exposed toes or perhaps my newly dyed hair. but every time i became certain the noises were actually in the room, as opposed to safely above or outside it, wiley has loyally started purring away, reminding me i'm not alone and even giving the impression she'd defend the sanctity of my bed {and dangerously exposed scalp and toes} with a well timed hiss or two if we were indeed invaded.

and as 15 minutes of early morning wakefulness have become 45, and 45 in turn deferred to 90, my mind has wandered back several times to a conversation i had with my dearling friend, sheree, a few weekends ago. we were taking an urban hike from my house to the lake {and, no, hike is not casually used here--do you know how many hills are between my place and lake washington?}. along the vein of live and let live that was the theme of that part of our day's conversation, she recalled a section from c.s. lewis's the horse and his boy. she only needed to say a word or two, not even a complete sentence, before i knew exactly what portion she was referring to in this novel i haven't read in probably 15 years.

it was the part of the story where the boy, shasta, meets up with aslan at last. they are walking down a long road shasta had to travel alone and {i think} at a crucial part of the book's events. the image i have maintained is that it was so dark that shasta could barely make out the form of the lion walking along beside him, or perhaps it was so dark he couldn't actually see aslan, but only sensed and intuited that it was him. sheree particularly pointed out the moment where shasta asked a question about his friend, aravis, and aslan gently told him that wasn't part of his story so he needn't be concerned. live and let live.

but the other part we also spoke of that is significant to my own story this night was when shasta asked why aslan hadn't come to him before. aslan gently corrected shasta and said he had traveled with the boy many times in different forms. he was present somehow in guiding shasta to his terrible foster parents, and again while shasta was purchased from them to be a slave for the cruel person who was in the end responsible for jump starting the boy's fate. and finally, aslan was the small cat who spent one long, dark night with shasta out in the dessert when the boy felt the most lonely. my memory also delivers up the image of a lion's roar in the distance that shasta had been afraid of at the time not knowing it was alsan or his gracious minions fending off the desert predators while the aslan-cat also stayed near the boy providing comfort and companionship.

so i've had my own aslan this night in the form of one-eyed wiley watching out for me while asleep, reminding me i'm not alone when i'm awake, and now keeping vigil with me perched precariously on my left shoulder as i write and witness the greys of my room disappear into reds, creams, tabby stripes and blues.

today is going to be pretty rough on three and a half hours of sleep. but it's here and fresh and i really can't argue with it's clear-skied beauty.