Last night's dream 11/21/09

Last night I dreamt that Rosebud, Nigel, and I were on the road again. We were driving to Norway to see the Northern Lights. Rosebud was cranky in the crate, Nigel was sleeping. I was playing Brandi Carlile on the CD player and singing at the top of my voice. That's about when the cop pulled us over. I was fumbling to find the registration in a lunchbox on the front seat when the officer tap, tap, tapped on the window. I had shut off the car so I couldn't roll down the window so I held up a finger to let him know that I was going to start the car and roll down the window. Well, I had injured my pointer finger and so I used my middle finger to alert the policeman that I was going to be a minute. That gesture got me, "OUT OF THE CAR, MA'AM! RIGHT NOW! OUT!" So I opened the door and stepped out. The officer's sharp intake of breath told me that something probably wasn't quite normal. I looked down to find I had on a pair of rubber pink pasties and a little rainbow fringe g-string and a pair of KILLER, and I can't stress this enough, KILLER Louboutin pink satin heels with a gigantic bow on the back. "I..." I sputtered and handed him my license and registration and insurance card and for some reason my mortgage paperwork and Nigel and Rosebud's notebook on their complete history, my Social Security card, a library book from the back seat on whales that Nigel was reading, and a discourse on the butch/femme roles of lesbians that I had borrowed from a friend. The officer dumped everything on the ground but the license, glanced at it and said, "Elliott...Elliott, Elliott, Elliott. What would Father Flanigan say?" and I burst into tears. He comforted me and I was really at a loss because I had no idea who Father Flanigan was, I wasn't Catholic, and I wasn't really ashamed of the costume because on second look I found that I had the body of the 20 year old Elliott and well, frankly, I was rocking those pasties and g-string like you would not believe. Plus I couldn't get over the shoes. Finally I was all out of tears and I said, after sneaking a peek at his name tag, "Officer Flynn, what did I do?" He replied, "Remember back about a hundred miles you were in Pit, Nebraska?" "Wha..?" "Think! Elliott, Think! Pit! It's important!" But I couldn't remember Pit. So Flynn continued, "You were in Pit and you stopped in a thrift store and you bought a black sweater and a mug that said, "Kiss Me I'm the Pope" on the side. I said, "Officer Flynn, I'm sorry but what is it with all these Catholic references? I mean, you know by now that I'm not religious that I know very little about Catholicism and yet here I am seemingly embroiled in some Irish Catholic drama I know nothing about." And Officier Flynn patted me on the shoulder and he said, "It's not you we're after...it's HIM." and he pointed to Nigel sleeping in his crate in the back of the Prius. "WHAT!?!?" I said starting to feel around my hips looking for, obviously, the gun I usually carried there. I glanced into the car and saw it laying on the seat. It was a Nerf ball gun and of little use in this situation. Officer Flynn said, "He's the ONE. He's the next Dalai Lama and we Catholics have been ordrered to stop him. He mustn't lead the Buddhists or things on Earth will change in ways you and I can't even imagine!" I was struck dumb. Officer Flynn had his gun drawn and me in handcuffs before I was able to react. I stood numbly while he handcuffed my feet and set me down by the side of the road. I was crying like mad and offering anything I could think of to stop Flynn from taking Nigel. "My retirement fund!" I yelled, "It's dwindled over the years but it's your Flynn, ALL YOURS...you could take the wife and go to Mexico and live FOREVER!" I wasn't really sure the money would last forever but if the market continued to improve, who knew? Stocks were always a gamble anyway and if he had a good financial advisor he could make that money last! "I will give you my financial advisor too!" I screamed. Flynn had removed his officer uniform to reveal some kind of Bishop or Cardinal's attire...who knows? I'm NOT Catholic! I was flailing around all over the place as Flynn holstered his gun and began to unzip the crate Nigel was in. I could see Nigel asleep and Rosebud next to him with her headphones on, reading a Vogue magazine. Then I saw her swivel one hairy eyeball at Flynn and her tail flicked. Flynn ignored her and I felt some hope welling up. She flicked her tail again and got up and did a deceptively languid stretch. Then, just as Flynn's meaty hands were encircling Nigel, Rosebud released her fury. Ten razor sharp claws (how, I don't know, I had just trimmed them the day before) sunk into Flynn's flesh, 32 (or however many teeth cats have) dagger edged teeth sunk into his pasty arm and Flynn released Nigel and yanked back, Rosebud still attached. He danced around with Rosebud doing this quite elegant Ninja-esque attack on his entire being. She got both his arms, his fleshy neck, and his face. Once she had him on the ground in a puddle of his own blood and sweat she strolled over, removed her headset, I could still here X playing through the little buds, and uncuffed me. "Fucking organized religion..." she sighed. I said, "Hey, young lady, watch the language." but she could tell by my beaming that she had done well. She headbutted me and bit my earlobe. We got back in the car and I gunned it out of there. Nigel woke up and said, "Mom, can we go there?" I said, "Where son?" and he said, "What that man said, to the Deli with the lambs. Can I pet the lambs?" I said, "Whereever you want to go little Holiness..."