J. Williams

I got home from work and found Rocky the Cat sitting on the porch swing, smoking and staring into space. "What"s wrong, Casanova? You look horrible! And you"re smoking again. Problems with Evangelina?" I asked.

"No, not at all, Mr. Voyeur. As a matter of fact, I am depressed about a dream that I had last night," he said sadly.

"Tell me about your dream. You know I love to analyze other people"s dreams while I, of course, desperately avoid recognizing the deeper meanings embedded in my own," I said.

"Well," Rocky said, stretching, "as you know, I am afraid of heights. I am sure you have noticed that I don"t jump onto fences or climb trees too much. It"s just reality - I"m afraid of heights. Anyway, I had a dream last night that I was a nightingale, that prized bird of the Romantic poets. So I"m a nightingale and I thought, "Woo-hoo! I"m as free as a bird!""

"Then what happened?"

"Well, nothing happened. I"m afraid of heights, remember? I was afraid to fly. So there I was, just standing in the yard, a bird unable to fly. I did not fly up into the heavens, I did not land outside some poetaster"s window and give him inspiration; I just stood there in the grass, paralyzed in my fear. I looked at my wings, then I spread my wings, then I let them fall back and began sobbing - a bird afraid to fly!"

"Then what happened?"

"A cat caught me in its claws and began devouring me!"

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