It was Winter. Or maybe it was Summer. (The time of year is not important, just keep in mind EXTREME WEATHER CONDITIONS and you'll have the general idea.)
I come to L and I tell her it's time to let Cap'n Agnes (our three-toed, gimpy, overweight cat) go. Where, you ask? Oh, to a pond somewhere, obviously, where she can swim with the other pond cats and live a life of feline aquatic freedom. Naturally.
For the record, Aggs looks like an angry Wilford Brimley. It's not uncommon for us to refer to her as "Fatty" or "The Fatness," or simply say "DY-UH-BEE-TUSS" at her (in an affectionate way, of course.) Oh, we also call her The Whalerus. Get it? Like a whale and a walrus? Yeah, we're mean. So what?
She can't make it all the way up a flight of stairs; she generally flops on her side halfway up to catch her breath. She walks with a limp. She's the boss of the other kitties in the house, but not by force. Agnes uses sheer willpower (and scary, dilated-pupil stare-downs) to control the masses. She's slightly evil, but extremely cuddly and squishable. As long as you have two legs, she's a pretty awesome whalerus.
Cap'n Agnes Greasepalms, the lumbering oaf in question.
Apparently, L was very worried about letting Fatness go during the Summer/Winter/Extreme Weather Situation, but I was totally nonchalant. Cats should be free to swim for a season every year. Swimming is what they do. Duh.
Compounding L's concern was the other, larger cat swimming around said cat-pond. There was some general anxiety regarding Fatty's ability to fend for herself against this brutish marine kitty. I was very firm that Aggs would be better off this way, you know, in the cat pond. (In the cat pond, yeah. I'll do my little turn in the cat pond?)
That's pretty much all of it.
Most amazing dream ever. I'm so glad she remembered and shared it with me. I wish it had been my dream.