Today we’re having a vet come to the house to microchip our two cats. It’s a good thing to do, but not one that gives me as much comfort as it should. I’m terrified of them getting outside in the first place, which is part of why we’re using a housecall vet. Fred joins me in this terror: ever since the move he’s been leery of windows, even. George, on the other hand, is a fledgling escape artist.
Last night I dreamed that both cats had gotten lost. The part where they were missing was actually very short. I found them and was holding them clutched to me (a feat only possible in dreams, as that’s about 30 pounds of cat, and Fred squirms a lot when you pick him up). They were clinging to me tightly, but I didn’t know how to get them to safety. I didn’t have a car, or a phone, or anything. I couldn’t find the person I’d arrived there with. I walked a long, long way to where I thought they were, but they still weren’t there. I decided to walk back as I’d come and just hope for the best — hope I saw someone I knew, someone who could help. About ten steps later, I saw my mother. She was walking toward me and had on a white top with little flowers and a blue hem, a shirt I’d forgotten about until today but one she wore often. I told her what was going on and she said yes, she had a car. In a dream-flash we were there. I put the cats safely in the car and felt a great wash of relief. We were parked outside of the place she liked to get ice cream and, burden resolved, we decided to go inside for something to eat. And that was it.
I’m not a trained psychologist but it doesn’t take one to understand what that was about. Sometimes, I want my mother. My mother was a champion fixer-of-problems, her kids’ problems most of all. When there was a crisis, she didn’t get panicked. She didn’t freak out. Car accident, failed class, computer broken, bad situation as work, whatever. She just helped you fix it, and that was that, and you didn’t have to worry anymore. And I miss that. I miss it. Does anyone ever stop missing that?
Sometimes dreams are weird and stupid and scary. Sometimes they’re silly. Sometimes they’re obvious. Mine tend towards the latter. Not scary, exactly, but an obvious manifestation of my fears. So in the meantime, then, kitties stay home whenever possible, and that means Fred’s personal physician comes to him.