Posted by: normanlgreen | January 12, 2013

Dream, Janauary 12, 2013 cat corpses


Dream, home, 7:41am

A murder has been committed in the vegetable garden behind a little house on a street developed in the 1920s.

I escort the lead detective to the crime scene. It is early evening and the colors tend to gold and purple. The detective is a heavy man with white bristles of whiskers on his loose cheeks. He wears a pale suit and brimmed hat, so this must be the South, perhaps Arkansas. He pokes with a walking stick at the broad leaves of the mature garden, pacing up and down the rows. He asks a few questions in a grumbling tone. I get the impression that I am one of the suspects. He excuses himself to a bungalow that stands across the narrow street.

After he leaves, I notice a black boar snuffling and tearing at something near the back fence. I step into a dog run, three feet wide that runs parallel to the fence. I shoo the pig away from a pile of black fur. His face and tusks are covered in fresh blood. The black body, tucked up against a fence post, has one red spot in its middle. I shout for the detective. His second-stringer, the relief detective who stays on the case while the lead man rests, comes back to the long kennel. I show him the black and red mound. He seems unconvinced that this is important. I walk to the far end of the dog run at the Southwest corner of the yard. Trees line the far side of the fence, but they thin out in this corner, so there is more of last light of day at this spot. I look down to see more corpses of black cats. I look over the back fence and see the severed heads of these cats, half buried in the soft earth. Their faces have been positioned to be looking up at the sky. They are too regularly placed to have fallen at random. I return to the first pile of black fur and confirm that it is not one large cat body, but several corpses piled together.

I Insist that the lead detective be called back. The assistant detective dismisses the idea and walks away, so I cross the street to the little house where the real detective has established his investigation post. Inside, the main room has all of its original craftsman style features, thick, dark beams and ocher colored walls. The detective shuffles into the room. Packages of prepared food and an open bottle of whiskey stand on the yellow oak sideboard. He is not pleased to have been roused.

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