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I see dead people.

I am clearly psychic.

For about a week I'd had recurring dreams about my cats. (My family has 5 cats; I visit home to see the felines more than the humans.) In the dream my parents tell me that they've gone missing, so I pull on some clothes and go searching through the world to find them. Each dream takes place in a different setting: my childhood home in Missouri, some random snowy ghetto, Storr's Lake in Milton. In the last dream, my father and I saw Asherah and Beeper outside, but he wouldn't help me bring them in. I screamed at him to help me but he wouldn't respond.

I visited home yesterday. As I walked in the door and beelined for the cats, I chattered away about my missing cat dreams. My mother responded "Oh, I didn't want to be the one to have to tell you..."

My favorite cat, Beeper, ran away and has been gone for ten days.


And, even eerier than the vague time correlation between his disappearance and my dreams is the fact that he has been spotted several times, but runs away from my parents. So in fact my father has seen the cat but cannot bring him inside, just like the last dream.

I don't really think I'm psychic. But I am entertaining thoughts of connections between soulmates-- AS BEEPER AND I WERE, SO DON'T LAUGH. He's my baby, my furball, my favorite Beeper-boo. He's a very unethical kitty, which I admire greatly.

I couldn't even cry because I had an important doctor's appointment coming up. Haven't cried. Won't cry. Beeper's declawed and spoiled, but he's a wild and impetuous cat. I think he'll survive if he wants to.

The doctor's appointment resulted in the scheduling of a minor outpatient surgical procedure for this coming Friday. I try to avoid too much information in this forum, so I'll only discuss how thrilled I am that I'll finally get this procedure over with. And yet I am, as previously stated, a bit of a wimp. My pain threshhold is quite high but so is my tendency to whine. And I can work myself into a dead faint just by thinking about blood. Since this Friday's procedure will indeed result in pain, blood, and embarrassment, I wonder if it might not be time to dig out my precious reserves (left over from my cancer debacle) of Vicodin and Percocet.

My medical problems are legion, complex, and chronic. I am a mass of faulty DNA. I am the antithesis of Survival of the Fittest. Should I ever be able to transplant my brain into a mobile jar, android body, or computer, rest assured that I will leave this feeble flesh behind instantly. Maybe a Zaphod Beeblebrox-style transplant would be better-- anyone fancy my head stuck right next to their own? I'm amusing, I'll do your homework, and I hardly ever snore.


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Nov. 20th, 2002 12:40 pm (UTC)
Or, a la Zaphod, you could get a third arm to improve your ski-boxing.
Nov. 20th, 2002 01:25 pm (UTC)
oh! I hope you find your kitty... maybe he's trekking to madison to see you? or living in some woods nearby... you could make him a kitty fort in the woods so he stays warm in the winter.
Nov. 20th, 2002 08:14 pm (UTC)
You can put your brain in my head as long as you don't mind it being used by psychology undergrads for nefarious ends.

Apparently the new installation at the Elvehjem is going to feature dead cats, as well as roadkill. Er.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )