And I had a crazy damn dream.
I was going somewhere involving family for some occasion. As usual in my dreams, it was pretty vague. We wind up staying at the house of some other family member, and for some reason all of us together decide to trek across town (I don't know what town it was, of course) and visit the residence of a now-long-dead family member to clean out their attic.
Well, their attic turns out to be vast and full of Stuff. We wander around for a while. I don't remember the details. Then I open a door and discover a room full of not just old clothes, but also kittens.
There were some full-grown cats as well, but mostly it was kittens. I was enraptured--Christopher stop climbing on my desk and snuzzling me and standing in front of my computer, don't be jealous of the imaginary cats--by them. As usual, I tried to convince my father to let us keep one, but he wasn't having any of it. He's developed this thing about hating cats in real life (he bitches when Christopher tries to snuggle with him), and that carried over into the dream.
So I decided that I had to get the cats out of that room in a dead person's attic and to new owners. The others tried to reason with me, to point out that the cats had been just fine in this room for however many years it had been since the unnamed relative died. For some reason, it didn't occur to me to just open the doors and windows and let them back out--it was either take them to new owners, or lock them back up in that room.
So I piled a bunch of them, about five, into a basket, and we drove back across town to where we were staying. For some reason we crashed through some kind of glass castle structure smack across the road, and when it came down, cats fell from it, and I caught some of them in the basket.
Anyway, when we got back to where we were staying, I had to find a room to keep the cats in. As it turned out, there was a big ominous stone door that led to a weird mausoleum/dungeon-type room, and for some reason, I thought this would be a perfect place to keep the cats.
We made a few more trips back and forth across town to transfer more cats from the dead person's attic to the inexplicable mausoleum, and then it was time to go to some kind of preparation for a wedding deal. The wedding was apparently why we were here in the first place, not that this had been mentioned before.
I wound up grabbing some cats to take with me there, so when I got there I had three kittens that I was holding in the bottom of my shirt. (The basket had vanished.) Despite everything else going on, I spent the whole time fretting over the cats and trying to figure out what to do with them. People were starting to get annoyed with me, and I began to wonder if maybe they were right. After all, the cats had somehow survived in that room for years before now. There must be some mice and insects that they could live off of, somehow.
The whole preparation-for-wedding deal had taken on some kind of exotic religious flair by now, but I was still fretting over the cats. I convinced someone to go back to the place we were staying with me so we could check on the cats in the mausoleum. When we got there, it seemed like the cats should be okay--there was dripping water for the cats to drink and lots of scuttling insect things for them to hunt. But a lot of the cats were limp and unmoving, and I worried.
The person I was with performed some magic (???), and one wall of the mausoleum become full of running water and vegetation. I don't know how this was supposed to help the cats, but it was supposed to, okay?
But I was still worried--and in a flashback, it was revealed to me that someone had been taking care of the cats in the attic, but now they were gone. So it became more and more imperative that I find something to do with them.
Around then I woke up, and I was so relieved that the endangered kittens weren't real that I spent a while hugging Othello.
Why can't I have cool dreams with interesting plots instead of vague and incoherent dreams about kittens in danger? It's not fair.