I was having the most awful dream.

Asleep, awake, asleep, awake.

I’ve taken a lot of flak in my life over how much sleeping I do: the sixteen naps in a typical twenty-four-hour cycle; the naps before and after meals; the naps because it’s ten a.m. or three p.m. or even two-sixteen p.m. on alternating Tuesdays –

Well, you get the idea. To this, I say: aren’t we all always doing one or the other – waking or sleeping? Unless, of course, we are no longer alive.

And so, since I was most definitely asleep – and that is perfectly okay – I was, as previously stated, having the most awful dream.

In this dream, a dog had shown up on my doorstep. Well, actually, he showed up on my lawn, while I was napping outside. He was a Great Dane, sent to me by our mutual friend, and he said his name was Sherlock Bones. He had this wild story about being something called a “consulting detective.” Which was a job very similar to being a private detective, or so he said. He further claimed that public detectives, the human ones, came to him all the time for help with their more difficult cases, which chiefly involved murder.

Ever since humans discovered twenty or so years ago that animals could speak, they always seem to be asking us for our advice on one thing or another, although they never give us any credit.

Then in the dream, before I knew what was happening, there actually was a murder case that needed solving, the human police actually did draft the dog to help and I, in turn, was dragged along with them. Then, a whole bunch of other things happened, all so rapidly within the confines of a day that I was barely even able to sneak in one nap, let alone the typical sixteen. Once the murder was solved – actually, we ended up solving two murders before we were done, and did so in a manner so confusing, I barely understood what had occurred – the dog behaved as though he were going to move into my home permanently.

Permanently!

Can you even imagine what the neighbors would think of that? A dog and a cat, living together?!

Why, it wasn’t all that many years ago that the city was still divided into four distinct districts: the Human Quarter, the Dog Quarter, the Cat Quarter, and the Everything Else Quarter. Then, the Great Melting occurred. Now there’s even a rabbit living next door. But I say to you again: A dog and a cat, living together? Unheard of!

But, in this awful dream, the dog did move into the home that had previously housed only a cat – me, Dr. Jane Catson – and my trusty housekeeper/cook, Mr. Javier, a Castilian turtle. Did I mention that, in his spare moments while solving the case, the dog invented a jetpack for the turtle so he could move more quickly from place to place?

It looked preposterous – a jetpack on a turtle! – and I did worry about Mr. Javier’s poor little brain as he was always going too fast and crashing into things. Perhaps at some point the dog could create a crash helmet for him? Still, it did have its advantages. Formerly, it could take Mr. Javier days to do a simple grocery run at his old creeping pace. But after the jetpack arrived, he could be there and back again lickety-split.

It really was the most awful dream. There was just one problem. When I stretched and opened my eyes as I awoke, I was immediately confronted by the dog from the dream. He was sitting beside me on his haunches, waiting somewhat impatiently for me to arise. As I glanced up at him – this Great Dane, who insisted on wearing his deerstalker hat so often I had to frequently remind him to remove the ridiculous thing – I was forced to admit, yet again:

My “awful” dream … had actually happened. Which meant that I really had somehow helped the dog to solve a murder and he had somehow wormed his way into my life with the intent to stay.

Well, rats.