I dreamt about the cat with the human face again. It was eating pork scratchings at the foot of my bed and thrumming like a hot machine. It crawled up the length of my sheet-swaddled self and rested its head upon my breast. A low song it sang to me, unrhymed and sepulchral, and it tenderised my body with its kneading paws of thorns.
I’ve got to stop eating cat food before I go to sleep.