You'd think I'd remember

    Or anyway I would. Today's dream actually got me up and out of bed before 6 am, much to the joy of the emergency backup kitty, who felt he'd been starved by not having an absolutely full food bowl all night. I would think it would be a particularly awful nightmare, or at least that I needed particularly to go to the bathroom. But no, and no. Near as I could figure, it was old-time-radio finally impinging enough for it to seem strange to my sleeping brain. I was in the usual sort of place, in that it was architecturally impossible, if in a different way than usual. This one had unending arrays of doors and corridors, and I was trying to get back to where I had been sleeping. When I got back to my own corridor, I found my pillows and blankets and stuff were missing. I was pretty mad and knocked on a door from where I heard voices. I asked a young woman there about my stuff and she said that the woman singing had taken them and I could ask her about it when she came off stage. Frances Langford was singing on a Command Performance from WWII in real life and in the dream. "Huh," my brain said and the next I knew I was awake. Not very horrifying, but darned odd. I'll try to come up with something more creative the next time it isn't a hundred degrees.