Then I wake up in a cold sweat and panic.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if good and bad dreams became a reality, if people would go mad when they see their wildest and most fantastic dreams coming true. Then the nightmares creep in.
What if one day the pair of hands come out the drain to grab your ankles and pull you down to your dark, watery death? And the scary noise reveals it's source? What if one day the creak on the stairs makes it to the top and finds its way into your bedroom? Will it still be the day when you still have that power of control? When you can still shrink the scary faces and turn them into something silly? When you can turn the snakes into sausages and the ghosts back into bed sheets?
Who knows?
Lets just be thankful it's all in our heads.
Fever dream about cats. Weird cats that talk and tell you what your conscience is moaning about from today's events. Conscience appears in the form of a cat, telling me I should be more assertive, impulsive but a little bit less sensitive. Frustration sets in with the snooty tone of Cat conscience. Boot it across dream land. It pops up somewhere else; on a rock that has magically appeared in front of me.
"Lets not forget that temper, it will get you nowhere!" The little bastard chants.
I attempt to kick it again, but my foot doesn't want to swing. Adding to the frustration I am suddenly in a strait jacket, hugging myself uncomfortably the cat brushes its self against my somehow bare legs and curls it's tail softly around my ankle.
It's fur.. Is strange.
Not like a cat. More like a snake. Do I dare look?
I hesitate to cast my eyes down, but can't fight the urge to look, despite the uncertainty of what I might see. Images of fangs, dripping with venom fill my brain sending shivers down my spine.
Still a cat. A very strange cat.
"You're paranoid, aren't you?" The soft voice whispers, now I feel the soft pressure of the tiny paws on my shoulder. "You're too afraid to let your imagination run wild because you might not like what you see. You might not like what's really inside your head. Who, or what you really are. The imagination is a wonderful, powerful thing, in many more good ways than bad."
The conscience cat explodes into a pile of black fibres. The pile lies in front of me, still for just a second then shifts a little. A little more. It's as if the pile is breathing. I see it rising off the ground, moulding its self into the shape of something. A hand! The black hand hover's in front of my face for a few seconds, I wonder what it's going to do; strangle me, slap me, shove its self back my throat and choke me? Gouge out my eyes?
No. Instead the hand cups its self around my left cheek and gently caresses my face. Almost has the touch of a gentle lover.
Soft.
Like a cat.
