Due to my guilt at being unable to walk Beibei yesterday, I dreamed that I had three pets to look after, acquired as a trio in a cardboard box from a newspaper advert. I not only failed miserably in this task, but also indulged in unintentional animal abuse. I was in a living room from my childhood, surrounded by family members, but my back garden and street were the same as those in Cooksbridge. There was a cute and charismatic puppy, towards which much fuss and attention was directed. He was seen as the main draw, with the others being unwanted add-ons, mere conditions of the purchase. Ironically, I have now forgotten the puppy's name and breed, so much for favouritism.
Then there was a shy, fluffy kitten with slitted eyes. Of the trio, she had received the least amount of attention. Indeed, the poor creature had not been given a name, and it was doubtful whether she had even been fed since arriving. I am not a big fan of cats, having never owned one as a pet, but this is not to say I dislike them. At some point in the dream, I remembered the kitten's existence, and argued about what to call her with my sisters. Based on the colour of her fur, my sisters claimed we should call her Honey. I didn't like this name, and thought she should be given something special to make up for the earlier neglect. I therefore changed it to Seyn, after my Star Wars waifu.
The third pet was an oversized, flop-eared bunny, excessively huggable, but prone to biting. We called him Flopsy and had played with him a lot before losing interest due to his unpredictability. Later on, I found him under the sofa and gave him a big squeeze, receiving bitten fingers in return. I wrapped a red blanket around him like a cape, and then tied 3 helium balloons to his torso. We put him into the garden, laughing hysterically as he hopped around, trailing the cape behind him. When leaping into the air, the flowing cape lent him the impression of being child sized, the balloons buoying him to even greater heights. A storm was brewing, with gale-force winds, and suddenly Flopsy was whisked into the sky.
We watched in dismay as he floated higher and higher. Flopsy let out squeaks of distress, kicking and squirming. The cape fluttered free, but the balloons remained firmly attached. Up and up Flopsy floated, into the clouds. Lulu pointed in wonder and bewilderment whilst we ran about like headless chickens. Either the balloons would burst and Flopsy would plummet to his death, miles from home, or he would rise into the very stratosphere, perhaps even into space. Soon he was but a tiny speck, at the same altitude as the planes from Gatwick. I grabbed a doctor's kit, and ran outside into the street, trying to keep him within my sights.
The winds dropped, and slowly Flopsy grew larger as he floated back to earth. Miraculously, he was borne back to our street and landed two door's down in the bushes of a neighbour's front garden. The landing was smooth, but I applied a stethoscope to his chest to check his heart rate. Only then did I realise that it was Lulu's toy doctor kit I had grabbed in my haste. To save face, I went along with the procedure anyway, telling everyone that his heart was going like a jack hammer, but he had survived the ordeal. At that point, the neighbours came home and were surprised to find a small crowd on their property, attending to a bunny with a toy stethoscope. Flopsy then gave my fingers a sharp nip, a sure sign he was back to his usual self.
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