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Dream Log: 1/1/2013

I’m trying to start 2013 off on the right foot, blogging-wise. Here’s a recollection of a short but crazy creation of my sleeping subconscious last night.

Dream: I am starring in a stage production of Little Shop of Horrors as Seymour Krelborn. I know. So, I’m doing the show, and suddenly, the orchestra comes to a crashing halt (yes, full orchestra!), and I hear some yowling offstage. A shadow appears, and makes his way into the stage lights: it’s my horrifyingly human-sized cat (also named Seymour in real life, ironically), dressed up as Puss in Boots from Shrek (which I’ve never seen). He strides over to me, jabs a paw/claw into my chest, and yells in a thick New Yawk accent, “That is MY paht!” I give him a petrified look, and wake up.

Happy 2013, y’all.

On Owning A Cat

It’s early. I blearily steal a glance at my alarm clock, which obnoxiously glows 5:46. Why am I awake? I feel a rustling under the covers and pull them up slightly, only to be met with a pair of wide, furtive eyes and a tentative meow. This mobile, feline wake-up-call returns to gently batting at what has so captured his attention: my, uh, how you say, family jewels.

Cut to another morning this week. It’s early, of course. I’m awoken by a quiet mewling and the ginger pressure of a kitten paw on my arm. I open my eyes to see the culprit stretch in annoyingly cute fashion, stand up, and do a full turn inches from my face. He settles back down after making himself comfortable, places his butt right in front of my squinty morning eyes and lets out a big, airy fart.

He got pushed off the bed for that one. Continue reading

"Lock up your libraries if you like, but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind."

-Virginia Woolf, "A Room of One's Own"

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