Remembering Angel

I went to bed early because I had stayed up late the night before and the presence of football caused me to avoid taking naps in order to see if I would win in the two fantasy football leagues where I had a chance to make the playoffs and even after it turns out that I did win, in both leagues, I ate leftover pizza and messed around with a new computer game until, suddenly, it was 10:30pm and I was utterly exhausted.

I brushed my teeth and, after repositioning the cats that enjoy my soft bed even more than I do (two of which are mine to go with a third, a beautiful Russian Blue named Frey [pronounced like what a piece of cloth does, rather than an allumette-cut deep-fried potato], that I am cat-sitting) I did a bit of reading on my phone until I started falling asleep mid-sentence.

I rarely dream dreams that I can remember unless, as presumably is the case with most people, I wake up in the middle of dreams, and I usually wake up in the middle of a dream when I want to wake myself up from that dream, and I usually want to wake up from a dream when the dream is unpleasant.

I closed my eyes and, at some point, I started dreaming about being back in my childhood home (in the living room, specifically, with the same orange/rust-colored semi-shag carpet that I remember we had in the final days of my time there) surrounded by people I recognized but could not name upon awakening and to whom I knew I was not related.

I was aware that I had not been these in some time and I was enjoying being back again, talking to the other occupants of the childhood living room in my ming, marveling at how much had changed in my life as time had gone by, when I was approached by our family dog (well, our third family dog of four, if my memory serves, although I didn't go detail as I dreamed my dream).

I kept trying to talk, in my dream, to the other folks, although I have little recollection of what I was saying and although I was distracted by Angel, our third family dog (of four), who sidled up next to me and licked my face and ... stopped with her tongue on the bottom of my jaw (which would be called the wattle if I were a bird and/or predisposed to having caruncles on my neck).

I found myself at a loss for words and I felt my eyes tearing up and I thought about, while I had never really forgotten Angel, I hadn't thought about her in years because, to be honest, she has been dead and gone for years and we'd gotten another family dog and I've had two dogs myself that have all been such good dogs and, I suppose, my brain only has room for remembering so much at any given time.

I hadn't forgotten Angel, but that I hadn't remembered her made me sad so I wanted to wake up.

I woke up and stared at the ceiling, in the dark, for some time.