Dream: The Dog-Killing Cats

Dream 20020802, 7:00 AM:

The Dog-Killing Cats

I’m at a place that reminds me of Grandma and Grandpa’s house – small lot with a chain link fence. I move to an area that seems like a desert, and there is a dog here. He explains to me that all the dogs have moved to the desert, because there is a cat who is hunting and killing them. I see dogs of all sizes and descriptions here. The desert looks almost more like a normal area that has been long deprived of water; it has the remnants of trees and houses. It almost looks like a Dr. Seuss lanscape.

I decide that I have to hunt down the dog-killing cat. I chase it from place to place; sometimes I couldn’t even see it, but I knew it was around. Finally, it gets to the point that I can see it. I am at Grandmother and Granddad’s old house in the woods, and I can see it outside through the window. I open the door, and it runs off; I think to myself that I need a shotgun, so I could be able to hit it while it was moving. It is a gray cat, gray all over with a little bit of brownish tiger striping. I wait until it comes to the window again, the big plate glass ones at the front near the door, and I somehow manage to get outside and chase it with a shovel. I finally hit it with the shovel, and then I know that to keep it from coming back, I have to cut off its head and bury both head and body. I dig the hole, and at first it seems like I’m digging through potting soil, then I hit a layer of white clay that looks very sculptural. I have to use the shovel to sever the head from the body, and when I go to do that, the cat has changed to look like Kego. I know it’s a ploy to keep me from cutting the head off; I haven’t let it out of my sight since I killed it. I finally manage to get its head cut off with the shovel, dump it into the hole, and cover it up.

Then, I’m at a beautiful grand hotel. The elevator has been taken out of service because it has cats living in it. They have taken out part of the floor of the elevator, a section shaped like a piece of pie, trying to get to where the cats are living. I know they are the last of the dog-killing cats. We go upstairs to a meeting, and then when it is time for us to come back down, Mrs. S. is here, and I walk down with her on my arm. The first two flights of stairs seem a little steep, and I worry about her. Then, the final floor descending into the lobby has a big padded ramp – it reminds me more of furniture than of architecture – it’s covered in a plush green velvet with some sort of texture in it. She is on my left side, and I am not sure that we ought to take the ramp on the side where we are – she will be on the outside, away from the wall. But she seems confident, and we descend fine.

In the lobby, there is a swimming pool. There are two of the cats beside it, and a dog in the water. I know if they can keep him in the water long enough, he will drown – this is their plan. I reach in and grab the dog and pull him out, then start chasing the cats. I go in and out of the water, and chase the cats around. One is orange and white, the other uniform gray. They seem more like rats than cats; they are not very big, and they move very fast like rats. I manage to trap the orange one, as he goes into a pool drain and then back out; he thinks I won’t see where he comes out. I grab him and hold his head in one hand, body in the other, and twist until his neck breaks. The body is quite limp in my hands after that. I catch the other one in a fire place; it thinks it will be able to climb the chimney, but I get it before it can, and snap its neck as well. I take both of them across to a mantlepiece, and lay them out. Then, someone is bringing out the bodies of mice – apparently they were hoarded by the cats – and talking about how this particular mouse was the head stud mouse; it sounds like they had some sort of organized pack. They lay the mice on the mantlepiece along with the dead cats. I feel very proud of myself, and everyone seems pleased with me for killing the dangerous cats. I remember explaining earlier to Mrs. S. that the cats kill dogs – she loves her dogs a lot, and was glad I was hunting the cats.

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