Last night I dreamed  that it was raining and my cat gave birth to seven mockingbirds. She guarded them jealously, like newborn kittens, on a faded dish towel in a corner of the house. Meanwhile, a family of white-footed mice played a game of cards around a baited trap. The typewriter wrote love letters to itself under the bed, signing each "Eternally yours, IBM", and the queen bee, spent by her labors, sat on the old recliner reading essays by Engels and Marx.

D.  What I dreamed last night