I had had another dream, which I relate to you now or, to be more exact, after some brief explanation, quite soon. As I had previously mentioned, cats are susceptible to dreams, much as humans are, and I could, quite often, when I awoke, recall them exactly as they had happened, as if they had been scripted for me; as if they had been written on my mind. I didn't think that was so unusual because, after all, I am a cat who possesses a talent in unusual abilities. Nonetheless, these things will cause even common souls to wonder. It's natural, I suppose, to dissect a life and all those things which occur within it, our loves and interests and obsessions, although I'm surprised at how little humans do actually mull over themselves and their actions, preferring instead to cross the transom rather aimlessly, blind subjects to the madness that happens around them. You let the stimuli control you. You are chosen, rather than choosing. As I was saying, before distracting myself, I could recall my dreams minutely, and whatever the reason, I took it as a sign of my destiny to write. To write, not only my dreams, but whatever else occurred to me. This was my fate, you might say. I interpreted it in that way as such is my license. Dreams were the suggestions of my subconscious, that much is clear, the unrealized ancestral forces working on me, generations of feline blood and image swathing me in a nightly journey, the angry rattling candy of a child, and it had to, as every dog does, have its day.

Now, when cats sleep, we don't exactly go about it in the same way that humans do. It's not the ritual for us that it is for your kind: we don't clean our bodies before resting (cats are notoriously clean, concerned, as a matter of course, about our hygiene throughout the day, not just at specific times, if you weren't already aware), we don't put on clothes especially designed for the purpose (as if we were taking a leisurely Sunday afternoon trip to a place where everyone wore pajamas and sat around cross-legged reading the news and crunching toast), we don't fiddle with clocks and other devices designed to remind us to return to the waking world, we don't take pills which would help us sink more quickly and more deeply into it, we don't count sheep (how absurd!) and we just don't fight it. It's a matter of concentration, plain and simple. We know full well where we reside and what we're doing, and we never lose such sight of it. Oversleep? Don't be ridiculous! Have you ever known a cat to oversleep? It's beyond us. Humans just overly complexify an otherwise simple bodily function by encumbering it. We simply don't approach sleep in the same manner at all but, I'm sad to say, we still must do it. We need to recharge, as you yourselves must. We need physical as well as mental rest. I would even go so far as to say that I enjoy it, although I could think of better things to do with my time than lying about and plying at dreams.

The demands of the world are strenuous, even for cats, but we do sleep and quite soundly, if the truth be told. You might not even consider it sleeping, especially as we are apt to rise from or return to sleep at the drop of a hat. It is just that easy for us. Humans, I have read, often have trouble getting to sleep. What's even more of a concern, they often have trouble waking from a night of it. It's as if the dream-state or the non-waking world were a more desirable place, as if, once it's claws were in you, held fast, it wouldn't give up its hold without a fight, dragging its victim back again and again, trying to drown it. I have often witnessed my master in the early morning, upon waking to the sterile beeping of his alarm, toying clumsily with the clock, stopping it and then returning to sleep for a few more moments. He does this for, perhaps, a half a dozen times before finally rising to confront the day. Simply wasteful. Get up and face the day! It can't be any worse than the previous one.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I was saying something about a dream I had had. Actually, I had said that I had had another dream, which is also not entirely true. I've had many dreams throughout my short existence in this world, often memorable, but I had one recently, which was distinct and which I will now finally relate to you, barring any other unnecessary or otherwise highly informative, although tangential, remarks on my part, however funny.

My master had gone to sleep many hours ago. After making my token circuit of the house and seeing that everything was in order, I headed for the garage and ultimately the backyard. I preferred to get some air during the night, when most of the rest of the world was fast asleep. It was simply much quieter, all things considered.

I was in the backyard, roaming about as I usually might on a dark night. I made my way across the cement patio, stopping to sniff at a strange smell underneath a rusty lounge chair or stopping to look about the yard. Eventually, I had made my way along the ground to the other side of the yard and was bout to get on the fence, to survey things from a more prestigious angle. The moon had dropped down behind the mountains, killing most of the light, and the world was as black as it could be with only the far off stars above, which didn't matter to me. Cats could see brilliantly in the dark. There weren't any clouds in the sky and it was easy to make out some constellations. I had learned to find Leo, among others, my favorite, and he was watching over me as he often did. The air was cold and everything was frosted over. Nothing was moving nor was there another sound beside my own quiet breathing. Small drops of water collecting under my lower lip and on some of my whiskers were turning to ice.

I coiled myself and leaped up the fence, scratching the wood lightly with my back claws and then stopping to listen after disturbing the otherwise silent Winter arena. I started slowly walking along the fence on the right side of the house, where I almost always started, scanning the perimeter of my domain and looking into the neighbors unkempt yard littered with broken toys and the other refuse and disarray of young children. Quite different from my master's well-maintained yard, where nothing was out of place despite the presence of young children. A mark of discipline and well-educated, mindful children. My master was not a complete ne'er-do-well.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and I was enjoying the quiet jaunt about the yard, but then I heard a sound. I paused to listen, briefly, looking a little to my left through the willows which were blocking my view a little, in the direction of the sound. A scuffling, on the other side of the long back fence in front of me. Something moving along the ground, moving away from me. My curiosity got the best of me. Was it a mouse? I would have to find out. What was it doing, braving my patrol at this hour? Perhaps a new visitor. I would have to teach it a lesson. Sport! I started walking again, quicker than before, padding quietly along the side of the house on the top of the fence. Surely, it didn't know I was here or it wouldn't have been so stupid.

I stopped to listen again, cocking my head toward the sound, my warm breath forming little clouds around my face and disappearing. The scuffling. Everything around me was white and shades of gray fading off into blackness. I could hear its feet, not moving too quickly, brushing through the wet grass on the other side of the fence. No, not a mouse. Too slow. Something larger than a mouse. I picked up my pace, now trotting along, sure of my feet. Almost there. When I reached the end of the fence, I would be able to catch sight of it. Was it a squirrel? No, too cold for the squirrel. The squirrel would be rotting away in some damp hole somewhere. Another cat, perhaps, or a stray dog? No, too noisy for a cat, but a dog... maybe. I started walking quickly. I had to get to the end of the fence before it got too far off and I lost sight of it.

Then there was only my own breathing and the sound of my own feet to listen to. I stopped, looking out into the gray-white darkness of night. The scuffling had gone away. Then a new sound started up. The cracking sound of bark falling from the plum tree which stood behind the back fence. It was climbing the tree. Still, I could see nothing. I'm sure it was not aware of my presence, making such a racket as that, and I hurried to get a better view. I continued walking, reaching the end of the fence and turning left finally to walk along the back fence. After a few steps, I stopped, digging my claws into the wood. There was a loud sound, as if something fell on the fence, and then the entire length of the fence swayed slightly. I could see it clearly, now. It was facing the wrong direction, facing away from me, and turned itself around, reorienting itself clumsily on the fence while I watched. It was an opossum! I didn't move any closer. Not an animal to squabble with, but I knew I could, in an emergency, get away from it quickly. I thought I would wait and see what it was doing breaching the extremities of my domain.

- posted by Bob @ 4:22 AM 0 comments