Teddy's Road Trip

        Mom and Dad’s house was almost empty, so I took Teddy with me to keep me company while I finished cleaning things out and packing them up. Teddy decided that the cabinets were a wonderful playground and was having a blast chasing his toy (the plastic rip strip from an orange juice bottle) and carrying it in and out of the cabinets.

        I’d had enough for one day, and we ended up doing the classic routine where I would open a door and he would leap out of a different door. Then I would chase him and he would pop into a different cabinet. By the time I got there, he’d wriggled behind the drawers across to another cabinet. He would poke his little red striped face out and send me kitty kisses then duck back inside.

        I had to take off one of my shoes and pull out a shoelace to lure him out and finally capture him. I had to keep Teddy distracted with the lace until I had his halter hooked up to his leash. I let him down, leashed, and let him play a bit before picking him up and taking him out to the car. He started howling even before I clipped his leash to the child safety seat clip in the trunk of little red. He howled the whole time I was lacing up my shoe. At least it was better than getting all scratched up trying to put him in a cat carrier. He stopped howling when I shut the car door and started the motor.

        We headed out and he could just reach my shoulder, so was sitting on the ledge of the deck with his back paws and his front paws on my shoulder. Every time I had to shift he would howl in my ear and grip a little tighter. All the while he was purring as well.

        People waved as they went by us, and Teddy would run to the back window to watch the cars that we passed. After the first ten minutes of the freeway he got bored and plunked himself down in the middle of the deck, curled up, and went to sleep.

        I can’t imagine Teddy actually being that calm in the car, but perhaps I should start training him to the halter. He hates being put into the cat carrier.

        I dreamed I was dating a woman with shoulder length dark curly hair, she was quite a bit younger than me. She flashed her breasts at me, she had a crimson corset on under her silk blouse, her breasts were smooth with a couple of small moles on them. I was so surprised that I immediately knew I was dreaming. (That sort of thing didn’t happen to me when I was younger, I doubt it would now.) I wondered what had happened to N, but thought it would be somewhat awkward to ask the woman I was dating, even though I knew I was just dreaming, I was concerned that she didn’t know I was just dreaming.

Dream logic, really odd. My brain then spun off into thinking about dreaming about thinking while dreaming, and the date and the cute woman were all but forgotten. My priorities seem to be all screwy. I do remember that the waiter might have been Steve Martin, which I suspected meant that I was Kermit and my date was really Miss Piggy. (Though neither of us looked like them.) At that point any hope of having a perfectly delightful wet dream was completely lost.

Ad astra per technica,

FF