Not a single star blinked back at me while I bounced sleepless about my cabin last night – unless one rolled out from under a thick warm cloud blanket sometime after 4 a.m. Sleep has been more than evasive this week. Sleep scuttled into a small dark hole out of the cat’s reach under the kitchen cabinets where it scratched and scratched and scratched. Incessantly. Irritatingly. Persistently. Maddeningly. All night sleep poked and pointed, nipped and bit, sniffed and slunk. Finally just before sunup I grabbed it by the arm, rousted sleep from its ruse, and shook the dust bunnies off. I glared at the mocking little bugger until the gleeful defiant glint softened in surrender, shuddered and sighed. Limp. I turned my back to the starless sky, curled up and slept.