Fanguella dreamed of killing cats. Cats everywhere, swarming around her, claws, blood, teeth. They dove at her. She was in a strange kitchen that also had a bed in it, mixing things the way dreams do. She pulled out a knife and started stabbing these cats, throwing their suddenly stiff bodies everywhere. Then the bodies became those of people, and she gazed in horror as some human bodies crawled towards her, begging for help, and asking, "why, why?" while others lay stiff around her. She looked at the knife in her hand, at the blood. Wondered why killing cats did not hold the same horror, and am I a bad person? The blood on the knife turned to frosting, and she sat on her bed, the bed with the pink spread that she had had as a child, and she started to eat a slice of frosted cake, all the while wondering at the appropriateness of it at a funeral. Her kitchen was full of mourners suddenly all in the black garb, none of them seemed to notice her though, where she sat eating cake on her childhood bed, wearing a child’s princess dress, pink like her spread. She felt a great comfort all of a sudden, as though someone were embracing her, or patting her shoulder. She realized then that one cat remained, and it was curled warmly around the back of her neck. "It's ok" it seemed to whisper. And she knew that she was forgiven, that somehow the cats had gotten away, they had forgiven her. And the warmth on her neck from the cat reassured her, calmed her, and she fell into a more peaceful sleep.