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Oh, did I have a dream earlier this morning.  It was a rather long and involved dream that happened at night and there were burglars and some man whose house I lived in, and a bunch more stuff that I don’t remember, but then …

I was in a room that was like the bedroom in the duplex where I had my office, only it wasn’t.  This room was cluttered and piled with things and all disorganized like I was either cleaning it or rearranging it.  This young man (not the one whose house I lived in, but he had been in the earlier part of the dream) and I were doing something that involved computer printers.  He was trying to convince me that we should get married because we liked so many of the same things and I was like, “whatever…” and not really paying any attention to him.  Then this cat walked out onto the floor and it was a black and grey stripped mackerel tabby.  I suddenly recognized it, and I said, “That’s Jett!” (who has been gone since 2009).  He heard his name and came up to me.  I reached down to pet him, and he was as real as real.  I said, “I’ve got to find my camera and get a picture of him.” But it was so good to see poor Jett again.  He was like he was when he was young and healthy and not all skinny and dull-coated from diabetes any more.  I picked him up and held him in my arms and loved on him.  I was holding him and loving on him and looking for my camera but couldn’t find it.  And then Gobi (who has been gone since April of 2015) walked out from under some furniture.  He was right at the age when his beautiful long coat had just finished growing out, and he was all white and splendid with that great brush of a tail. I put Jett down and started petting Gobi.  And then there was Stormie (who has been gone since May of 2015).  I wanted so bad to get my camera to take a photograph of them to prove they had come back, but I just couldn’t find it.  I picked up my baby girl and was loving on her.  I was carrying her around loving her the way she liked best, looking for my camera, but then I looked down and she was a different cat, a little male with longer fur that was black with white under its chin and down its belly, but still small and delicate like Stormie always was, but that was OK.  I was loving him and went into the room in the duplex that I used for a bedroom, and into that bathroom, both of which were dark and the bathroom was knee deep in water because part of the the floor was missing.  Still couldn’t find my camera.  I wanted so desperately to photograph them and prove they had returned. It was so miraculous to hold them again and be able to pet them. I was still holding this one black cat, who periodically kept changing back to Stormie, and now I was in this building that was like the entry foyer of a school, and over in the hallway, there were two all-white half-grown kittens scampering and chasing each other off up the hall.  I thought, “Those are the next ones.”

Then the dream morphed as dreams do, and I was driving over this really narrow road under this gothic tracery design of black and peach-orange that swirled and twisted, which was what I had to navigate by to keep the car on the road, but it kept twisting and turning in a very psychedlic way, and then the alarm went off.

It was such a magical dream.  All my babies came back to me (except, oddly, Sister, who was the first one I lost and who has been gone since 2004).  I’m sobbing as I type this.  And, of course, it’s Father’s day, and he has been gone since September of 2014.

But the fat(cat)boy has discovered that his bowl is empty and he is convinced that he will starve to death any second now, and life goes on.

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