18  Dreams

Bingley and I play lots of chasing games.  I pull a string under a towel or small rug, and he chases it.  I swing a stuffed mouse attached to a string through the air, and he leaps and runs after it.  I dash off to one end of the basement, and he follows, then he runs back, and I follow.

Often as he sleeps in my lap he will twitch–dreaming, I assume.  Sometimes he’ll make brief sounds, little barks or mews as he twitches.  Yesterday evening he was sleeping in my lap, and he started to twitch.  Shortly afterwards he woke, stretched, and looked at me.

“Were you dreaming?”

“Yes.”  He yawned, his mouth open wide.

“Chasing something?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“A mouse.”

“Did you catch it?”

“No.  Not worth the trouble.  Could have if I wanted to.”

Then he settled back down with a sigh and fell back to sleep.  After a time he twitched again.

When he woke up, I asked him again what he was dreaming.

“Chasing a cat,” he said.  “Grey and white one.  It was in the yard, and I chased it out.”

“Were you angry?”

“No, just going my job.”

Once more he fell back to sleep, and soon he was twitching vigorously, and he did so for a little while.

He woke and looked up at me.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Chasing?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You.”

“Me!”

“Yes.”

“Did you catch me?”

“Of course.”

“What did you do then?”

“Bit your leg.”

“You did?  You bit me?”

“No.  Just kidding.  I jumped up on your shoulder and gave you a hug.”

Then he turned around, needed my belly a couple times, and threw his paws over my shoulder and gave me a hug.

“Best buddies,” he said.

“Best buddies,” I said.

He settled down once more and fell into a still, quiet sleep.

He may well have bit my leg in that dream, but sometimes that’s what dreams are for–as long as you follow them with gentle, quiet sleep.