Gilda Radner talks in her sleep. Her ears jerk in crazy trembles and she smacks about like heaven is one big bag of Tender Vittles.
I’m not getting a kick-back from Friskies. I don’t owe Morris a thing.
I picture them dreaming of flying fish.
I wonder what cat dreams look like? Or anyone’s dreams, really, other than my own. Does Gilda dream of floating bowls of cream or mice with wings? Or lizards on roller skates zipping past the crack of the door?
Sometimes she shoves her sister-cat, and it reminds me of being a kid and having to share a bed with my younger sister and her flying elbows.
I used to dream about boxing matches and wake up with my sister’s elbow in my ribs.
But they purr and snore on, never minding the occasional elbow. For the most part, neither did I.
Do they still make Tender Vittles?
