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Universe takes away, universe gives

On Saturday night, I didn't sleep very well, for obvious reasons. I miss my cat. A lot. But when I finally did get to sleep, I had a very vivid dream, the first I've had in a long time. (Well, my dreams themselves are always pretty vivid; it's just lately they have been either mundane or utter nonsense.) But this dream was more like dreams I used to have growing up, with a plot and a story. I think with some tweaking I could turn it into a story. It began with fairly typical werewolf paranormal romance stuff, with a male werewolf who fell in love with what he thought was a human girl. Her dad freaked, and tried to keep them apart. There was also a villain involved, who was trying to keep them apart, and working on the dad's fears. However, the werewolf pack had a very powerful ally in a girl who was a Phoenix. Her powers were fueled by people's pain, and as a result, she could read the reasons for that pain. She could read people's secrets because of that, and due to all the turmoil being caused by the villain and the dad, she is super powerful. During a battle with two of the villain's flunkies, she reveals just how powerful she is. She also reveals that the girl was not turned into a werewolf by her lover, but she was always going to turn into a werewolf because her father was one. Her dad was not an alpha male, and was a bit on the cowardly side. His wife didn't even know what he was, even after she was introduced to the world of the supernatural. I woke up at about that point. I stayed awake for a little while, long enough to think about the Phoenix character. I thought becoming a Phoenix is inheritted after a certain number of generations. The Phoenix will live for a long time, but they're not immortal. And when they die, the very next baby born to the direct bloodline will be the next Phoenix. So the Phoenix could just as easily be a boy as a girl.

I found it strange that I had a vivid storyline type of dream the night after I had one of the worst losses in my life. It feels like having a fortune ripped away, and being given a pittance in return. However, I am no less grateful for said pittance. I've been having trouble with writing ideas for the last year or so. It's been really frustrating. So just having some sort of idea is nice.

My heart is still broken. I might be in the ballpark of okay, but I'm not quite there yet. I know to some it might be silly to have this much grief for a cat, but I can't pretend I don't have this much grief for a cat. I'm incredibly angry that there was no warning, nothing. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't. I would give anything to have some extra time, one more moment, one more time to have held him, gotten a really nice kitty hug from him. Just a little more time. And I wish one of us had been able to be with him as he died. His heart had already stopped by the time the vets let us go in the back. He was gone, surrounded by strangers. At least when animals are put to sleep, you can be in the room with them! It's planned. This...fucking sucks.

I now have a lot more sympathy for necromancy and for stories like Pet Sematary by Stephen King. If it was possible, I don't know if I could ignore the temptation. I want him back so much. He wasn't in pain. His skin condition had even cleared up over the last few months. There is no reason for it, other than the universe just arbitrarily decided it was time.


That is a great story idea.

It's a small comfort, but at least it can be something to focus on and think about instead. And it's a story I'd love to read.