Secret Crime Nightmare

12-5-13 Sunday nap

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, strapping roller blades to my feet. I don't like roller blding.. I do not have a single athletic bone in my body. My husband does, though, so I've reluctantly agreed to go skating with him.  These particular roller blades are complicated and confounding me. They seem too have too many clasps and not enough strips to put in them.

I finally get the darn things on and heavily clomp my way upstairs. All of the living room furniture is pushed back and the room seems unusually bare. My husband is standing there in the stark room. The look of sorrow on his face looks like a father who doesn't want to tell his son that his dog just died.

My surroundings suddenly change. I'm in my home, but it is different. It looks bigger and older and slightly unfamiliar, but my dream self doesn't seem to notice. I'm alone, so I go to find where everyone is.

I wander outside onto my now downward sloping lawn with its brown picket fence. There are dull brown tables and chairs with a few people milling around , among whom I find my parents and my husband. I approach them to see what is going on.

One of them covers nme in shame. I have wandered outdoors without a shirt or bra. This realization startles ne, and I cover my breasts with my hands. I am also no longer heavily laden with roller blade d feet. The only thing that covers me is some light-wash wide leg jeans that are almost too small.

I go indoors due to not only decency but also due to confusion. The last thing I remember is being ready to go roller blading with my husband. Why is everyone and everything so somber? Why am I undressed? Most importantly, why don't I remember?

Upon questioning my parents and my husband about what happened, several things took place. I received no conclusive answers of any kind, realized that my house was different with closets I hadn't even known existed, and I grew increasingly more upset.   I should state that I have this quirk about me where I hate not knowing things and being in the dark on a subject. I say I hate surprises, but that isn't entirely true. I don't mind surprises. It is the foreknowledge of the existence of a surprise and nt knowing what that surprise is that drives me absolutely insane.

So since no one would tell me what had happened (and it was obvious that something had indeed happened), I tried to find answers on my own. That is when I found the unused walk-in closet behind my bedroom. An additional discovery was of police tape freshly strung throughout the house.

I confronted my husband with my discovery that a crime must have occurred and maniacally insisted that he tell me what happened. He turned towards me with those same sad puppy dog eyes from before. In a way that was sad but cryptic, he finally said:
"Maybe there is a reason that you don't remember."

A reason? He was suggesting that I saw the event and was traumatized into repressing the memory. My mind raced With theories of what possibly could have happend that would have been so awful.

My body is wracked with sobs. My face is soaking wet with tears. I am slumped on the floor in front of a tiny bit of stair railing that closes a gap at the end of a hallway. When I see my mother pass by on the floor beneath, I yell at her through my tears. "Mama, please!" is all I can manage to verbalize.

Finally, my racing mind stops on one specific thought.
'Where are my kitties?'

My kitties (Jan 4, 2015)

Sephi, asleep in the crook
of my elbow (and all tucked in)

While this may not sound horrifying to some people, it was an abaolutely terrifying nightmare to me. I woke up slowly and raised the covers off of my arm just a couple of inches. Sephi was still there, curled up on my elbow and purring. 

**The date discrepancy on this entry is due to both blog-keeping and serendipity.  I've been tidying up my blogspaces, getting everything all pretty and tucked away.  This entry was an unpublished draft, for some unfortunate reason.  I only added pictures and fixed spelling errors.  The only other additions occur after those asterisks.

The serendipity part of it is something I'll be blogging about in an upcoming "Chronicle of Furbabies" in Geeky Gringa.  I've experienced some hard losses at my gig at the shelter lately, and I'm beginning to realize that I am much more affected by (and feel a deeper connection with) felines than anyone else in my personal life.  Gives a whole new meaning to "crazy cat lady."