Saturday, March 7, 2009

Cat Food.

A Dream:

I'd been away in Florida vacationing with my family, and I'm excited to be back home and see my cat. The home I'm coming back to is the one of my childhood. I'd entrusted the care of my cat to a male cousin. I'd not told him to take care of the cat, but I'd been sure he would know he was supposed to take care of her anyway. I just knew he'd know it was a job I'd mentally delegated to him. I also kind of half-expected that he'd blow it, and then I'd be able to yell at him.

My family was unpacking the car, and I rushed up to the house to find my cat. To my horror, she was outside. My cat doesn't go outside, but there she was, offensively, awfully, independently outside! I was horrified.

I went closer to her, afraid to approach to eagerly lest she take off running. As I got closer, I realize she was very, very thin. Her breathing was labored. She seemed to be dying.

My cousin hadn't done his job! He must have known I'd wanted him to care for my cat! I'd clearly left the cat uncared for and decided very loudly inside myself that it was his job to care for her, yet he'd willfully left her unattended!

The bastard! The selfish, irresponsible bastard! He must not love me at all! (I must not be worthy of love.)

I decide the next most important thing to do is to tattle on my cousin, and I go looking for my mom. I also hope to bump into the cousin so that I might let him have it.

While I'm searching, I come across a lovely pink box of cat food. I remember that I should probably be feeding her as my first task, since lack of food is what had gotten her so sick in the first place. I open up the box and pour a few kibbles into a bowl for her. The kibbles are croutons, which I recognize from a salad I ate recently that was made by my Al-Anon sponsor. It's just the food she needs.

Cliff's Notes Version for the Dream-Interpretation Impaired:

So I've entrusted my most precious cat to an untrustworthy man, and forgotten even to tell him that it was his job to care for her. My deepest desires are to tell my mother about it and to yell at the untrustworthy man. I happen upon a box of the best bits of my sponsor's salad, and realize that she needs those particular croutons desperately.

I woke up a few minutes ago laughing at my prissy, fussy dream-mind's lack of sophistication and wild connections and couldn't wait to write it all I'm done now, and signing off to go back to bed.