I had a dream about a month ago about a cat. I was in the neighborhood of my childhood walking a street that I walked every day on my way to school. As I walked past a familiar house..one that I knew inside and out, I saw a cat. The fence was low and made of brick and a little white gate sat ready to be opened into that warm and inviting house. It was the house of one of my brother’s best friends from primary school.

Behind the ordered bricks was a quaint garden of geraniums, nastursiams and at certain times of year, foxgloves. The cat was there in the aesthetically disordered garden, sitting behind the red wall, just beside the gate. In my dream, she seemed perfectly normal and we stared at each other for a long time.  She was perfect in every way as a cat’s conformation brings to mind;  manor. posture and the calm, aloof peace that a cat just seems to emanate when basking in the sun and watching the world go past.

I watched her languishing; envying her day of chasing lizards and soaking the sun into her shiny black fur to then to toast her dark skin underneath. “What a life”, I thought.

My little reverie was taken back into focus by a passing car and I saw her there, still by the gate; she had three eyes. I hadn’t seen it before, she seemed so normal; and she was. But she had three eyes

I told myself to take a picture in my dream and so I did. Then I drew it the next day (see above…just a little enhanced by Picassa).

There was nothing strange or ghostly about this dream at the time, but I did love that family. I’m not wanting to sensationalize the dream as I felt that was all it was . However, I would like to pay tribute to the husband and father of this beautiful family who was an engineer and killed in the collapse of “The West Gate Bridge”. I didn’t understand this as a little girl but because it was his house where I saw “my cat”, I felt I wanted to mention it. Very tragic now that I look back but I can’t believe how well they managed to stand so well together as a family.