Michael's dreams are often vivid, bizarre and bordering on the surreal. He experiences these nocturnal adventures without any mind altering drugs. Except for the legal one he takes before bed, which is supposed to help him sleep.
Which is why I'm sitting at my computer, pre-dawn, recording his latest bedtime shenanigans. This was too good not to share with the known universe.
I was woken out of a perfectly beautiful sound sleep by his Majesty thumping me on my upper left arm. The one I have just had the operation to fix. As ever, he had no memory of the whacking. And the cause of all this uproar was the toast.
Bear with me whilst I explain. This is not the first time toast has featured in our bedroom. The toast was ready. In the toaster. In our bed. And then the tale became truly, spectacularly nutty.
Madame Cat was present in bed as well. With her suitcase. What was the significance of the suitcase? To pack the toast into it, of course. And she was leaving. Suddenly, I had the most glorious vision of the cat in high heels, with a banana palm hat on her head, wearing horn rimmed sunglasses, leaving our bedroom with her suitcase, packed with two pieces of toast...
By the end of the story, I was wide awake, had forgiven Michael for the heinous punch and was laughing somewhat hysterically. Michael returned to Cloud Cuckoo Land, whilst I adjourned to our dining table to record his latest dream sequence.
I will never look at toast, the cat or a suitcase in quite the same way ever again.
And I'm off to bed again...zzz...zzz...zzz
I don't think...
I can ever look at Madame Cat...
in quite the same way again!
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