I dreamed last night that I was in a very bloodless (or anyway all the blood was offscreen) revolution in Iraq. I was imprisoned in a suite of three rooms like interconnected classrooms, with two other people who were also totally offscreen and three kitties, one of whom was Amelia. The people imprisoning us eventually took the cats, which upset me more than any revolution. I banged on the door and practically everybody outside had gone except for two people, one of whom was a lady with a machine gun. I asked if we could go since everyone else had left anyway and mentioned the missing cats. She gestured that we could and suggested that the cats had gone to kitty heaven. I was major pissed and wanted to avenge the cats, but that was the end of the dream.
Now in real life, the iPod was playing the Mercury Theater's adaptation of A Tale of Two Cities. Orson Welles as Sydney Carton was about to say that it was a far, far better thing that he did. So I'm glad the weird dream woke me. I hope that my priorities in conscious life are with the people; it's clear that my subconscious is all about the kitties!
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