My sweet and charming little bud of a kitten, Tulip, pranced sweetly into my dream this evening. As in the past I have always returned from dreams of her feeling horrid, my dreaming self was tense, ready and waiting to combat the most stressful of scenarios should they arise.
I reached out to her, taking her up into my arms and blowing on the tips of her ears affectionately, but she’s crying. Small, pitiful mewlings, somehow she’s been terribly injured and everywhere I touch seems to hurt her.
I look over her closely and I can see deep purple patches, sores like the fur itself is bruised.
Not wanting to hurt her, I set her down gingerly on the edge of the bed. She curls into a tight, small ball, then slowly vanishes tip to tail like a Cheshire cat.