I forgot to mention the wonderful dream I had (other than having a horrible fever in it, thanks to the overzealous bedding at Kelly's) ! In my dream, I call out sick (that would be the fever) from the ROM and then have to go from where ever I am, to my house. It's my house that I lived in growing up, the one on Avenue Rd. To get there I had to walk through the downtown neighbourhood I used to live in on Manning, AND along the rotary trail in Peterborough (running behind Mom's house). I go inside and there are two cats, one the kitten that one of our tennants had owned, who's name escapes me, the other Placi, the wonderful little male tiger striped grey that was born in our backyard in Brooklyn. He died in the summer of 1999 from cancer at the ripe old age of 17. In my dream he runs to greet me at the door and dances all around my feet the way he used to, before leading me into the kitchen for dinner. I go into the frige, get out a can of cat food and gather up his plate (and apparently the one belonging to the kitten, who just seems to be there). I dish up the dinner and put the plates on the floor, somehow aware that, in the real world, Placi is dead. I give him new water (the kitten is now gone) and then just watch him eat. He's just like he was when he was about 13 years old, round, rotund even, and amazingly perky and cute. And then, all of a sudden, he looks up at me with his big bright eyes and mieus at me. I look at him, now more fully aware that he shouldn't be there and reach down to pet him and he sticks his bum in the air and his question-mark tail quivers excitely and then I woke up. I was both happy to have had the dream and sad because I remembered how much I loved him.