Dreams of the Un Well

Late afternoon dream:

I am moving. I am moving into a large apartment on the ground floor. Outside is a Depanneur, a few tables where the store sells fruit and vegetables outside. Next to the store is a Brasserie. The apartment grows once I'm inside of it. It expands to fill several rooms, complete with 70's era furniture, about 6 sofas, and two wall mounted telephone boxes--one working, one not. I think this is cool.

I open the back door to see a homeless, drunk older man with a foolish toothless grin walking toward my place with several fishing rods in his hands. I am busy collecting several black kittens which have rested between my wooden door and screen door, as it is pouring rain. As the man approaches I have two choices: continue to rescue the hungry cats, or close the door and save myself from the mad fisher. As I contemplate my choice, to the left of me I glance a rather evil looking man with something in his hands--a weapon of some sort--and I know it's intended to kill me. Do they want the furniture? The kittens? The fisher man had a kitten in his coat. Not sure. I make a decision. My life or the kittens. I choose mine.

And then I wake. I blame my cold.