The Movie Dream
I dreamed I was in a movie. Then I realized it was a movie and not life, so I stepped out of it. But then, remembering that I’d seen the movie, I tried recalling how it went. It seemed different, so I stepped back in to follow.
The dream was about a man protecting the Pope. Dressed in a black leather trench coat, with a black hat pulled low over his head, he was in a big white Lincoln Town Car. After some changes in camera perspective and mild action, it emerged that he’d been shot. People were after him and he was after them, trying to be proactive by getting them before they got him. I was very young, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with shaggy brown hair. At one point, I was accused of being the one who’d shot him. I was ready to proclaim my innocence, but the Pope’s bodyguard identified me and said, “He’s one of the good guys.” I was flattered to be cited as a good guy.
Now, though, I felt like I had to live up to that billing. I kept my eye on the Pope’s bodyguard, and spied others trying to sneak up on him. I went to give him warning, but he’d noticed them and was on it. It was at this point in my dream when I thought, wasn’t this a movie? Stepping out, I watched on a big screen as a fine silver thread was spooled out along a winding path through a business area. The silver thread was lit.
A fuse, I realized. But isn’t that different from the movie? That’s not how I remembered it happening.
I stepped back into it. Something was going to explode. I raced forward and scuffed out the silver thread. That ignited all manner of chaos as bad guys — in white clothing, or light clothing, male and female — rushing out to re-light the fuse and the Pope’s bodyguard fighting them off.
Which is where it ended, or was interrupted, by an unnamed cat called Tucker.
The Sheriff Dream
I was asked if I would be Sheriff. People would need to vote me in, of course. I accepted the offer because I didn’t think it would come about. I didn’t campaign so I was surprised to hear that I’d won. I was also surprised to hear me referred to as ‘the short guy with the short hair’.
I was young and happy. Becoming Sheriff was something I took seriously but was also that I wasn’t going to let dominate me. As I was leaving to walk around with a friend, an older man sharply said in passing, “I prefer my sheriff with his gun.”
Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten my gun. Guess I needed to carry that around. As I began walking out with my gun and my friend, the same older acquaintance said, “I prefer my sheriff to wear his gun in his holster properly.”
Oh, silly me, of course. With my friend’s help, I holstered my gun and put on my holster around my waist. He and I walked around. He was going on a journey to the north. I was helping him review what he needed to take with him and offering any help that I could give. Everywhere we went, people commented on the ‘short-haired guy who is our new sheriff’. I thought that was funny.
Rain fell. I had to put on a coat. That demanded I rearrange my gun holster. My friend helped me with that. As soon as we did it, the rain stopped. He and I entered a shop. An argument was going on. As it escalated, someone said, “Sheriff, can you intervene?”
I walked over and told the participants to break it up. They asked, who are you? I replied, “I’m the sheriff.”
They laughed. “You’re not the sheriff.”
“I am,” I answered. “I have a badge, I have the power and authority, and I have a gun.”
That shut them up. They walked away. My friend and I walked outside. I said good-bye to him and shook his hand.
Dream end.
A New Word
Today’s word for the day is triaditis. It goes with words already familiar to me, like inflammation and pancreatitis, detoxing, dehydration, and a bonus new word, cholangitis. These are the words passed on to me from the vet. Triaditis is the concurrent inflammation of bile ducts, liver, and pancreas. Surprising to me is that it’s common in cats. Cats have owned me for fifty years. None of them ever mentioned triaditis. They did sometimes display triaditis symptoms of being lethargic, not eating, and vomiting something thin and yellowish. But they usually said, “Done,” the next day and went on being a uniquely entertaining companion.
That brings out two other familiar words, acute and chronic. Chronic, yeah, it flares up once in a while, doesn’t generally cause a larger panel of issues, etc. Acute is more critical and dangerous. The question before the vets is, which flavor afflicts Papi?
That’s what’s being explored today. His blood pressure was also initially low, but it recovered. There were some concerning matters about the kidneys, expected when a cat is not eating nor drinking water. We’d been forcing water in him and trying to entice him to eat.
I read up on what I could overnight and this morning about triaditis. Papi remains hospitalized. He’s young, so I worry that he’s experiencing acute triaditis. As expected, he was given fluids via IV, along with antibiotics. Because my wife has RA, we’re familiar with autoimmune diseases and disorders. The doctor confirmed that triaditis falls in that realm. Not much more is known about it past its symptoms and how common it is.
For now, Papi’s major issue is that he’s still not eating nor showing interest in it. We believe it’s because he’s in the hospital. He’s been treated for dehydration and given antibiotics. Provide us with some NSAID anti-inflammatories, if possible (I’d rather avoid steroids because of the collateral damage they can cause), and let us take him home and try to get him to eat.
It’s still a shock that he became sick so suddenly. This is how bodies function, though. Because we see such small, gradual, external changes, we easily overlook or forget that we’re really multiple internal functions, processes, and organs balancing and harmonizing. Keeping it all together requires shifts and adjustments. Sometimes genetics enter the scene. Other times, luck or injuries shift the setting.
We’ll see what we see. I don’t feel fatalistic about Papi; I’m optimistic. Maybe it’s just due to how he always presented, as energetic, happy, and healthy, so he remains so in my mind.
Cheers
The Pencil Threat Dream
In my early twenties, I was second-in-charge of an enormous global competition. People had gathered from around the world. The games’ name started with a Z and was something like Zweimeckel. Others worked for me as judges, referees, and umpires. They rushed about, watching and ruling over the various events underway and scoring them, a noisy, busy sight under blue skies, while I strode along, grinning and nodding in approval. I mostly saw the workers and was indifferent to the events and competitors. Those things only mattered to me if something went wrong.
Something did. A young female competitor broke the games’ harmony with sudden threats. I responded to the site and found she was complaining, then grabbed a yellow pencil off a clipboard and brandished it like a sword. Her threats found laughter: what could she do with a pencil? “Plenty,” she defiantly responded, and then pulled the pencil point out. “I can stab someone with this?” The point was so small, she couldn’t hold onto it and kept dropping it. That brought a round of greater laughter.
Everyone paused, waiting to see what I would say. I ruled that she wasn’t a threat but that she was dismissed from the games. She was being removed as I turned away.
Dream end.
Floofsessive
Floofsessive (floofinition) – Object or person which an animal claims for their exclusive right.
In use: “Flash was floofsessive of not just her human, but the yard and the house where she resided with the human, issuing warning growls through the window to everyone from mail and delivery people to passing birds, squirrels, cats, and dogs.”
Michael Seidel, writer 