dreamt that we lost the cat in small orifices (the last one was a car's glovebox.) And, next, that Sam Hyde was shooting pornographic montages at parties we'd attended. Then that the door kept getting knocked on by someone which was not corporeally existent. Ian was a skinny bald man housitting and looked like he was from Deal or No Deal on Television. Outside was Tonto, our white truck, which we had, in the future-present, given to Erick. The dogs ran around while Ian tried to control then. I smashed open the glovebox that the cat was supposed to be in, but found nothing inside of it.