Today I want to talk about dreams; specifically, dreams about cats.

Ever since Jennifer and I began fostering kittens for a local rescue, I’ve had plenty of dreams about kittens. Mostly I dream about them running all over the house, getting outside, getting into things, and so on. In other words, the dream foster kitties act like real foster kitties. It’s pretty much all chaos, cuteness, and mess.

Strangely, though, I rarely dream about our resident cats. When I do, it’s usually after they’ve passed away.

For example: Yesterday was the fifteenth anniversary of that horrible night when our cat Tangerine (pictured above) had to be euthanized. She had endocarditis, and her heart was enlarged because of it and throwing blood clots into her body and brain. I miss her just about every day; she was a good kitty, and the first cat who claimed me as her own. Every morning before work, as I was sitting at my desk, she would come up to me and jump right into my lap, purring.

A few months after Tangerine died, I had a dream about her. It was nothing special. We were just playing, her running around while I played with a mousie toy with her. I woke up feeling sad and happy. Sad because I missed her all over again, but happy because it felt like I’d gotten a visit from my friend. A few months after that, I dreamt that she and I were walking together along a forested path (she was strictly an indoor kitty, except for that one time she got out for a night, and that was very traumatizing for both of us), so I don’t know where that image came from. We simply walked, and then she walked ahead of me, disappearing into the woods, looking back at me one more time and purring. I knew then that I would never see her again, and that fact made me cry; it makes me sniffly even now just thinking about it. I haven’t dreamed about her since.

Then there was the dream I had just after Rupert died. Rupert had lymphoma, and while it was controllable with Prednisalone for awhile, but eventually the disease caught up with him: I dreamed Rupert was a teacher at my high school (dreams are places where cats can be high school teachers). He had to leave for a new position, so I picked him up and hugged him and told him he was a good teacher and thanked him for all the lessons he’d taught me. Then I woke up, and haven’t dreamed of him since then (of course, that was less than two years ago — who knows what will happen).

These dreams were pleasant enough; I miss these cats, and while I wish I could see them again, the dreams suffice.

But then I recently had a bad dream about Azzie.

Azzie died in 2018, but it was pretty much simply old age that brought him down. He was close to twenty years old (I wish cats could live longer, I really do), and toward the end he had very little “Azzie-ness” left. He couldn’t even whine at supper time because he’d lost his voice, and then he wouldn’t eat much.

In my dream, though, instead of having a vet come to euthanize him when it was time, Jennifer and I simply abandoned him in the woods. I remember he came home, though, a couple of years later, looking fit and young and fuzzy and cute all over again, but mad at us for abandoning him. I’m not sure what to make of this dream. I always feel hugely guilty after one of our cats dies, because, well, could we have done more for them? But all of these cats were in pain or deteriorating rapidly, including Azzie. I just hope that this dream was a random one and Azzie really isn’t mad at us wherever he is.

I don’t know why I decided to write about this. It’s just something that’s been on my mind for awhile now, ever since that dream about Azzie. Our other resident cats are in fairly good health, and I hope they last a lot longer.