It’s a Day.
It was a strange night last night. I haven’t been this literally frightened by a dream for decades. It involved the attempted murder of my babycat by a killer clown with its mouth crudely sewn shut.
It was completely unreal. I was carrying him, running down High Street in Edinburgh, no walker or wheelchair in sight, not at all crippled, and 30, which would mean he wasn’t born yet, anyway. I woke with a start and had to clear my head, see my husband sound asleep next to me, and breathe.
To be honest, I couldn’t calm down until my 15 pound boy, Gizzie, was lying on my chest and purring.
He just seemed to know.