Saw a bird. Not sure what the heck it was–possibly a slightly weird House Finch. It was a Little Brown Nondescript Thingy, had black feathers with some striping, but not a full out bar, just some paler edges, but it had a bright, flamingly pink butt (or at least lower back, a distinct bright red-pink strip between where the folded wings lay) and a little reddish pink cap. The red-pink on the head was just the cap, not a full noggin job like I’m used to with the house finches, although the color was similiar, but the butt was VIVID red-pink. Beak was small–either finch-like or warbler like, but definitely not long and pointy. It was the standard finch/sparrowish size, a little on the larger side.
E-nature has failed me, and I really need a better bird guide. Have not been able to find this guy online. If any of my cadre of Alert Readers can locate it, or tell me it’s just a freak mutant with a plucked butt, my gratitude.
Had a dream last night. Long and complicated, Us against Them, being pursued by enemy forces. Was at some kind of mansion, as a servant, and this idiot boy had a miniature kitten, no larger than…err…*casts about for size comparison*…the plastic ear on the armadillo miniature on top of my monitor is not very scientific…no larger than a medium sized ant, say, in a styrafoam cup of water. It needed water to live, it was some kind of amphibious kitten, but it could also drown, which it did. I took the kitten away, pumped it’s lungs out (it was unbelievably tiny) and gave it mouth-to-snout (how this worked on a creature with a mouth smaller than the period at the end of this sentance, I dunno) and it recovered. Had to do this two or three times. Then I wound up with a bunch of frogs in a jar, which I was taking through a really nasty part of town. (It was a “protect the small animal!” dream, evidentally. But I was successful, which probably says healthier things about my psyche than the ones where all the small animals are dying that my mother used to have.) There was something else about a jukebox and wrestling, but I’ve sort of lost it. I wound up in an antique store run by flaming transvestites. I was trying to buy a glass vase–one of the old ones that look like bubble wrap, opaque white at the top, transparent greenish-turquoise at the bottom, with round, regular bubble-wrappy nubs on the outside. Then the lights went out, and I was bumbling around in the dark in this antique store. It was one of those dark-but-just-enough-light-to-see-vague-shapes things, and I was seeing all these hot-dog sized things with racing stripes skittering around, congregating on the light switches. I asked Dave Weinstein (who was being used as sweatshop labor in the antique store for some reason) what the hell they were, and he said “Oh, they’re addapedes.”
Right as I had finished tearing around the store shrieking in horror, and was going to have to figure out something productive to do, James grabbed my shoulder and said “Wake time for wibblies!” for which I was wretchedly grateful.