Art, like dreams, has its own internal logic. A red tree in the snow is as plausible as a burning bush in the desert.
FYI. Whattaburger’s chicken strip meal with only one container of gravy is not enough gravy to dunk all three chicken strips, all the fries and the piece of toast, but with an extra container of gravy, there’s enough gravy to dunk everything, plus enough gravy left over to have later on a biscuit. Good cream gravy with black pepper. Serious noms.
The other night, I was asleep in bed and the black kitty barfed on my head (and pillow). Very hesitantly put my hand up to my head and discovered, to my intense relief, that I had just awakened from a very vivid dream that I was lying asleep in bed and the black kitty had barfed on my head. Speaking of the black one, I wish I could just train him not to lie on me when I’m trying to sleep. He weighs a ton.
When I’m lying in bed reading, that is the place to be. I look away from my book to see the grey kitty lying by my feet, the black one in my lap and the white one lying at my left elbow. Quite a peaceable kingdom.
The most recent book I’ve looked up from to see all three cats lying on the bed with me is Patricia Wrede‘s four-book set of The Enchanted Forest Chronicles. (About to start book four.) They are witty, vastly entertaining and sneakily antipatriarchy (“King of the Dragons” is the name of the job. It has nothing to do with gender.), wherein we meet a princes who actually volunteered to keep house for a dragon instead of being kidnapped by one for the purpose and strenuously resists all attempts by princes and knights to rescue her, a witch with nine cats, none of whom are black, and wizards who are self-entitled troublemakers who believe that they have the right to appropriate magical power where ever they find it, whether it belongs to them or not, and who can be temporarily melted by a bucket full of soapy water with a little lemon juice added. Oh, yeah, and a rabbit that accidentally got turned into a bright blue floating donkey with wings.