Do kitties dream? Well, I certainly do. Mama says that when I snuggle up between her knees, sinking down into the wonderful comforter that’s on the bed (the same one I use for the String Game—hide the string under the comforter, then pull it slowly and I go bananas chasing that thing because it sharpens and hones my killer instincts or rather, hunting instincts, and I can chase that knotted up curtain cord for at least 15 minutes until I get bored and leap off the bed and slide across the parquet, looking for new horizons), I go off to what they call in Italian ninna nanna and I am deep into dreamland in seconds. I dream of many strings being pulled under many bedspreads while I chase each and every one until I’m exhausted, and I dream of my garden that I don’t have for a few more weeks and I dream of mama and papa scratching my chest slowly, sweetly while I purr and purr, and then I’m either attacked by a pit bull or suddenly realize that I used to be an orphan wandering around in the cold, cold nights and trying to find a place in a woodpile to stay for a few hours and I peep and peep in my sleep, literally, a little cry very unlike a myow (as I spell it) with more desperation in it just like a small human and then I wake straight up out of slumber and look around me as if the world is ending, and then I see mama and papa watching over me and I go back to sleep again after they have stroked me a bit and said, Loulou, it’s okay, you were just dreaming, and so I snooze again and dream of vanilla yogurt and world peace.
