THEN.
I was somehow at
redshrike's house, which was guest-starring two cats. One was named Toby, I can't remember the other's Proper name, but it was also a man's name. I was presented with the imperative of adopting these cats, who weren't redshrike's cats- she was like, hosting them for the ASPCA or something. They were very cute cats- and they were very forgiving, even after I caught one of their paws under a door and left this smear of what I thought was something like ash or something under the door- though it was, in fact, the hair that had been yanked out of the poor thing's paw.
They both had boy names because they had been named boy names by the man who raised them from kittens. See, they identified as boys, because that's what cats do when they're raised by someone. They imprint on the parent who raises them and assume his or her gender identity. In the manner of dreams, this made perfect sense. As did the statement from
redshrike of 'they both lift their legs to pee. And they both think Wednesday is the day you're supposed to do business'. Yeah. Somehow that made sense.
However, Toby and her sister would have nothing to do with the very large hamster cage that was being used for transporting them from chez
redshrike to my house (which was in the opposite direction from where it is in the real world): they kept trying to wriggle out of it. And succeeding. So I and
redshrike finally gave up on the cage, around the gas station, and carried the cats.And that seemed to make them happy. They were quite content with that. Then
redshrike showed me something surprising about the cat she was carrying.She said to it "Okay, Sheila, go for it!"
--and the cat sat up in her arms, forepaws on her shoulder, looked at me and screamed
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAA! YAAA YAAA YAAA YAA
YAAA YAA AYAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAA!
This was, actually, completely non-terrifying. It was actually screamingly funny- and we did it a few times in the parking lot of the Shell station, both of us. Giggling madly, as the cat would scream- then curl up against your throat as if to say she was pleased that you were amused by her screaming.
Then I woke up. There was nothing discernable as the sound mistaken, in sleep, for the cat screaming.
