The Cat in the Tree: Part 2 – Miso Gets a New Friend - Rest: Sleepy Bedtime Stories

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Good evening and welcome to Rest, your sanctuary for peaceful
sleep and relaxation. Whether you're escaping daily stresses or seeking
a nightly companion, you're in the right place. My name
is Jessica, and I'll be your host this evening. Before

(00:27):
we begin, why don't you turn off your screens and
turn down your volume. Now that's done, let's unwind and
help you ease into a blessed rest. Not so long ago,

(00:56):
Miso was just a frightened little cat stuck kai in
a tree, waiting for someone, anyone, to notice him. That's
where his story began, with a rescue, a home, and
the start of a family who loved him. Now, Miso's

(01:17):
days are filled with sunlit naps, cozy corners, and the
gentle rhythm of life with Emily and Jacob. But every
story has a new chapter, and this one brings a
surprise that will test Miso's heart in ways he never expected.

(01:40):
This is the next adventure in the tales of Miso,
a cat who once had nothing and now has everything
to share. It has been a long time since the
man on the ladder helped me down the tree. I

(02:04):
still remember the whoosh of the wind in the leaves
and the sway, sway, sway of the branches under my paws.
That was the day my life changed. The woman who
saved me is called Emily. I know it because the

(02:28):
man in the ladder likes to call out her name.
Whenever he comes home. He always brings bagels and flowers
and little treats for me. The man on the ladder's
name is Jacob. He lives with us now. He smells

(02:49):
of fire smoke. I didn't like it at first, but
now I do. He's nice to me. He gives me treats.
I love that he scratches my head. I don't like
that so much, but I like him, so I let him.

(03:11):
The house is great, and it's so much better than
the tree. It's a cozy place with smells of warm
toast in the mornings and the soft tick top of
the clock at night. I have favorite spots now. One

(03:33):
is the square of sunlight that stretches across the living
room rug each afternoon. Another is the chair by the
window that I have claimed as my throne. From there
I can watch the world outside, the flutter of wings,

(03:56):
the zoom of cars, the sway of tall grass when
the breeze passes by. Emily says, I am part of
the family. Jacob says, I am king of the house.
I like both. Today is special. Emily calls it my birthday.

(04:21):
She says it has been one whole year since they
found me. Her voice is bright with excitement as she
hums around the kitchen setting things on the table. Jacob
ties a ribbon on a little box. I sit on

(04:42):
my throne chair and watch my tail flick, flicking with curiosity.
When everything is ready, Emily claps her hands. Happy birthday me.
So is so loud it makes my ears twitch, but

(05:05):
her smile is soft, so I stay on the table.
There's a round cake with white frosting and sprinkles like
tiny stars. A candle flickers in the middle. It glows
and glows and glows. Emily leans close and blows it

(05:29):
out with a wush. Smoke curls into the air, twisting
like a ribbon. Your very own party, Jacob says, setting
the cake in front of me. I give it a sniff,
sweet soft, but not for me. The frosting sticks to

(05:55):
my whiskers when I nudge it, and I wrinkle my nose.
Emily giggles. He doesn't like it, she says. But then
Jacob brings something else. A little dish. Inside is fish, fresh,

(06:17):
pink and perfect. Oh, yes, this is mine. I lower
my head and eat the taste, warm and familiar. My
whiskers twitch with joy. Emily claps again, softer this time.

(06:40):
When I am finished, I curl up on my throne chair.
My belly is full. The house is quiet, except for
the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the fate tap
tap of rain against the window. Emily kneels beside me

(07:05):
and strokes my fur. We're so glad you're here, miss,
she whispers. Her hand is warm and steady, moving in
long strokes down my back. I close my eyes. I
have a home. Now, I have a family. The days

(07:30):
are calm and steady, filled with sun patches and soft blankets,
with quiet nights and gentle mornings. I am no longer
the cat in the tree. I am miso and I

(07:50):
am loved. Days later, I am lying on the soft
rug in the living room. My whisker is twitching as
I watch Emily. She is sitting cross legged on the sofa,
her eyes glued to the glowing television. On her feet

(08:13):
are the funniest socks. One is yellow with tiny blue stars,
and the other is green with purple stripes. They don't match,
but they do wiggle in time as she laughs at
the pictures on the screen. I stare at them for

(08:36):
a long while, mesmerized by their colors and patterns, until
my eyes grow heavy. I was playing with a piece
of string just a little while ago. It danced and
twisted across the floor, and I pounced and patted it

(08:58):
with my paws until I grew tired. Now the string
rests beside me, curled like a little snake, and I
am content to lie here, half asleep, watching Emily's silly socks.

(09:19):
The evening is quiet, filled with the soft hum of
the television and the faint tick top of the clock
on the wall. My tail curls neatly around me, and
I blink slowly, feeling the warmth of the room settle

(09:42):
into my fur. Everything feels peaceful, still and drowsy. Then
I hear the sound of the front door opening. The
hinges creak, and a rush of cooler air slips inside.

(10:04):
I lift my head, blinking toward the hallway. Jacob steps in,
smelling of smoke, and the outdoors, as he often does
when he comes home late, But this time something is different.
His arms are full. He carries a small bundle, wrapped

(10:28):
snugly in a blanket. The bundle wiggles, it rustles, it
lets out a tiny squeaky sound russell wriggle yap. Out
from the blanket pops a tiny head covered in soft fur,

(10:51):
with round eyes and a wet black nose. It is
a puppy, pup so fast that my tail swishes against
the chair, swish, swish, like a broom sweeping the air.

(11:11):
My ears tilt back, my eyes go wide. I don't
know what to think. The creature is noisy, the creature
is clumsy. The creature is very alive. Emily gasps, Oh, Jacob,

(11:33):
She cries, her hands flying to her cheeks. What is that?
Who is that? Jacob chuckles, setting the bundle down gently
on the carpet. We found her this morning, he says,
brushing ash from his sleeve. She was all alone, poor thing.

(11:58):
She followed us halfway down the road and we couldn't
leave her there. The puppy stumbles out of the blanket.
Her paws are too big for her little legs, and
they trip over each other. As she toddles forward, her
ears flop and her tail wags so hard it almost

(12:23):
tips her over. She blinks up at Emily and yips,
a bright little sound that bounces around the room. Emily
claps her hands together. Can we keep her, oh, Jacob, please,
can we keep her? I watch from my chair, my

(12:48):
whiskers quivering. Keep her, keep this bouncy, barking bundle. She
smells strange, like grass and mud and milk. She moves
without grace, she makes noises without asking permission. I am

(13:09):
not sure about this at all. Jacob kneels, steadying the
puppy with one hand. She's a girl, he says, softly,
a little girl, with a very loud voice. The puppy
looks up at him, then, eyes round and shining like

(13:33):
polished marbles. She does not look away. She stares and stares,
her whole body still except for her tail, which cannot
stop wagging. Emily leans closer, her mismatched socks bright against

(13:55):
the dark rug. She whispers something to the puppy, though
I cannot hear what it is. The puppy yips again,
as if answering. I stay where I am, tail flicking
once twice three times. My world was quiet before, my

(14:20):
world was soft and sleepy and filled with gentle things.
Now a new noise has come inside. I do not
yet know if I will like it. But Emily's laughter
fills the room, and Jacob's smile warms the air, and

(14:43):
the puppy's bright eyes keep shining. So I watch and
I wait. Swish swish goes my tail, and the night
feels different. Emily looks back at me, me so, she says, softly,

(15:04):
you'll like her. I know you will, will I I'm
not sure. The puppy is new. She is noise and
bounce and smell. I'm quiet, I'm whiskers and stillness and
watching the television flickers on the room smells of city air,

(15:31):
of Jacob's jacket, of the puppy's warm fur. Emily's hand
strokes the puppy's head as the little one yawns wide
and squeaky. Then she curls into the blanket once more,
eyes fluttering shut. I stay on the rug, tail curled

(15:55):
around me, eyes half closed. I I am not sure
about her, not yet. But Emily smiles, Jacob smiles, and
the puppy sighs in her sleep a sound like a
tiny whistle, and I think perhaps one day. The glass

(16:21):
is cool against my whiskers, and outside the night feels
wide and still. Behind me, I hear the quick patter
of pause. The new one, Daisy. Her nose is always busy,
sniffing and snuffling at everything. She presses it against my

(16:46):
fur sometimes like she wants to know all my secrets.
Then she darts after my tail when it flicks, or
she finds the warm place where I was lying and
plops herself there with a happy sigh. I do not
know what to do with her. She is noisy, she

(17:09):
is clumsy, she is bright all the time. So I
stay up here in the window. It feels much safer.
I think about before, when I was small, when I
was the new one. My paws were shaky then, and

(17:32):
my mus were thin. I had another family. Their voices
were kind at first, but time passed and they grew tired.
I remember the way their footsteps went away without me,
the way the doors shut, the way the street smelled

(17:54):
like rain. That was the night I was alone until Emily.
Her hands were gentle, even when I was frightened. She
carried me home close against her chest, and Jacob, even

(18:15):
with his fire smoke smell, let me curl up on
his lap. They gave me food, they gave me warmth,
They gave me a place where I belonged. And now
there is Daisy. She stares at me with her big,

(18:36):
round eyes, full of questions. Her ears flop when she runs.
She yips at shadows and chases things that are not there.
I wonder if there is still enough love, enough space
in Emily's arms, enough quiet in this house for me.

(19:01):
I tuck my head down and close my eyes. The
glass hums with the night air, and Daisy rustles somewhere
behind me. I don't move. I just wonder. Emily's voice
drifts from the kitchen dinner time. I jump down from

(19:27):
the window and pad after Daisy. She bounces ahead, her pause,
skidding on the floor. Two bowls wait for us. One
smells sharp and strange, hers one smells just right mine.

(19:50):
I lean close to Daisy's bowl, curious. I lick once,
Hyuk too mushy. I back away, wrinkling my nose. Daisy
doesn't mind. She eats with loud chomps, wagging her tail
so hard it thumps against the cupboard. I eat too slowly.

(20:18):
The food is warm, the house is warm. Emily leans
on the counter, smiling at us. Jacob comes in with
two mugs, the steam curling up. He sets one in
her hands, and she sighs, leaning into him. I glance

(20:43):
up at them, my whiskers twitching. A soft sound pushes
from my chest, half mew, half purr. Look at me.
I am here too. Emily laughs and points Miso wants attention.

(21:04):
Her smile makes my tail flick high. I almost step
closer until Daisy does something. She tips her bowl, food
scattering everywhere. Then she slips in it, landing in a
silly heap. Emily gasps, Jacob hurries forward. They both kneel,

(21:30):
fussing over her voices quick and worried. Daisy wags her tail,
happy even in the mess. I sit still, my chest heavy,
my pur fades. They don't look at me now. It

(21:51):
is a strange, hollow feeling, as if I have been forgotten.
That night, I curl on the sofa alone, my eyes close,
and for the first time in a long while, I
dream of the tree, the tall one I once climbed

(22:15):
when I had no home. I dream of the branches
swaying under me the ground far below, and I wonder
if I went up there again, would they come, would
they call my name? Would they wait for me? Days

(22:37):
went on, and slowly things began to change. Daisy is
not so bad. She wakes me too early, jumping on
the bed, barking at the morning. At first I hated it.
My tail would lash, my ears flatten, But then she

(23:01):
would drop something at my paws, a ball, a sock,
even one of my own toy mice, and look at
me with those wide silly eyes. I couldn't stay angry.
Sometimes I chase her through the rooms, her nails clicking

(23:22):
my paws soft on the floor. Sometimes she lets me win,
falling over so I can pounce. Other Times she outruns me,
fast as the wind. Emily watches and claps her hands, laughing.

(23:43):
She likes us both. I see it now. She scratches
Daisy behind the ears, then she scratches me under the chin.
Her voice changes softer when she says my name, but
still warm when she calls Daisy too. I stretch in

(24:06):
the patch of sun watching them. Daisy is loud, but
she is kind. She brings me toys when I am bored,
even if they are wet and slobbery. She nudges me
to play, and sometimes I do. It's dark outside now.

(24:32):
Emily and Jacob come out of the bedroom together. They
look different tonight. Emily wears a black dress that swishes
when she walks, and her lips are red bright as berries.
Jacob has on his best shirt, the one that smells

(24:56):
like the store, not like home. Daisy tilts her head,
staring at them, ears perked and eyes wide. I know
what this means, date night. Emily bends down, kisses Daisy's head,

(25:16):
then presses her lips to my fur. Jacob chuckles. King
of the house, he says to me, keep it safe
until we're back. I blink slowly at him. Of course
I will. This is my home. The door closes behind them.

(25:42):
Daisy bolts across the room, chasing shadows. Only she can
see her paws, thumbloud on the floor. I lean up
to the window sill outside. The rain has started gliding
down the glass in long silver lines. The world is dark,

(26:07):
wet and quiet. I curl my tail close and purr
low and steady, watching the street. Tonight it is mine
to guard. Hours slip by, and the house grows heavier,

(26:30):
with silence. It feels too still. I pause on the
window sill, ear is angled, waiting for the usual clatter
of Daisy's paws, the squeak of her toy, her endless
little noises that fill every corner. Nothing, just the patter

(26:56):
patter of rain against the glass. Then boom, thunder cracks
across the sky, shaking the walls. My whiskers twitch. Where
is she? I leap down and stalk the hallway, nose

(27:18):
to the floor, tail high. The rug is empty, the
sofa bare, No Daisy. I search the kitchen, the stairs
until I find her, small and trembling, tucked under the table.

(27:41):
Her ears are flat against her head, her whole body
curled tight. The thunder growls again, and she shivers harder,
eyes wide, lost in fear. I step closer, careful, slow.

(28:03):
My pores make no sound on the ground. When I
reach her, I fold myself beside her. My chest rumbles,
low and steady, steady and low, rumble, louder than the rain,

(28:25):
softer than the thunder, a sound that says you're safe.
Her breathing slows. She blinks at me, then nudges forward
until her nose presses my fur. She sighs, her body

(28:45):
loosening against mine. I watch her, this noisy puppy who
fills the house with chaos, and I realize something I
hadn't before. Letting her close doesn't push me aside. It
doesn't shrink my place. It grows. It makes the warmth bigger,

(29:11):
the home fuller. Family isn't less when it's shared. It's more,
always more. And so I per louder, steady and strong,
until the thunder fades. The storm rolls on outside, but

(29:36):
in here time feels slow. Daisy's breathing steadies, her head
heavy against my fur. I keep my poor draped over her,
a little anchor that says you're not alone. My pur
carries through the hush of the house, a gentle hum

(30:01):
stitched between the thunder. It's a while before the door
creaks open. Emily's face peeks in first, then Jacob's, their
eyes wide with surprise. They don't say a word, They
just watch the puppy and the cat, curled tight together,

(30:28):
one poor laid over the other, like we were always
meant to fit. This way. The air feels different, now, quiet,
safe full. I blink up at them once, then lower
my head back down. My pur keeps rolling. Maybe new

(30:55):
friends aren't so bad, I think. Letting the warmth settle deeper,
the world fades soft pitter patter of rain on the roof,
the snuffle sigh of a sleepy puppy, and the steady

(31:17):
purr purr of a cat who finally feels at peace.
It has been a long time since Daisy came home.
I stretch out on the windowsill, the rain tapping softly
against the glass. The world smells of wet earth and

(31:42):
new beginnings. Daisy is sprawled on the rug below, her
ears twitching even in her sleep. She snores, sometimes tiny
squeaky sounds that make em Lee giggle and Jacob shake

(32:02):
his head. I used to find it annoying. Now I
find it not so bad, almost comforting, actually, like the
house itself is breathing. When I first saw her, I

(32:23):
thought she was here to take my place. She was loud, clumsy,
and far too bouncy for my liking. She tried to
steal my food, my bed, even my sunny patch on
the floor. I was ready to puff up and remind

(32:48):
everyone that I was mis the king of this house.
But then I noticed something. She wasn't trying to push
me out. She was just trying to belong, just like
I once did. Now she brings me toys. Sometimes she

(33:13):
drops them right on my tail, but I can tell
she means it as a gift. And when the thunder
growls outside, she doesn't hide alone anymore. She comes to me.
I sit beside her, rumbling my pur and she presses close,

(33:40):
as if I'm the brave one for both of us. Tonight,
Emily and Jacob came home late, dripping from the rain,
their laughter following them inside. They saw us curled up
together on the rug, her poor over mine, my whiskers

(34:07):
brushing her ear. Emily whispered. Look at them, Jacob, and
he smiled in that quiet way of his, like he
knew all along this would happen. I didn't move, neither

(34:27):
did Daisy. We were warm, we were safe, and we
were family. It's funny. I once wondered if anyone would
come for me if I stayed in that tree forever.

(34:48):
Now I don't need to wonder, because family doesn't forget you,
even when it grows. I glance Daisy, who twitches in
her sleep, probably chasing a dream bone. I nudge her

(35:09):
gently with my nose. She sighs, settles deeper against me.
Maybe being king isn't about keeping the crown to yourself.
Maybe it's about sharing it and realizing that the kingdom

(35:31):
is happier, brighter, and much more fun when you're not
ruling alone. I close my eyes. The rain taps soft
against the glass. Daisy breathes steadily beside me. My pur

(35:55):
hums low and sure, carrying us all into the quiet night.

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The Cat in the Tree: Part 2 – Miso Gets a New Friend

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