I spent most of the day out of sorts, on account of the artificial rat.
It seems to be the season for disturbing and vivid dreams. Perhaps the Spring and its attendant barometric chaos. What it was, was I dreamed that I was somehow involved in a matter of corporate skulduggery, in that I knew that an artist/inventor, who owned a patent on a lifelike, artificial rat, capable of a convincing and quite terrifying snarl, was on the hit list of corporate profiteers who schemed to bump him off so that they could keep all the proceeds from the sale of the rat(s) to themselves. His name was Nick something-Italian-in-M, and he was basically dead meat from the get-go; all I could do was all I could do, trying to warn him before it was too late, while feigning to believe the arguments of some libertarian theorist explaining that anything done in pursuit of profits is A-OK in the sight of God.
The rat was a pretty impressive, fearsome effigy. I still have a vivid sense of its teeth-baring rictus, held as it was in the grasping lunch-hooks of some balding CEO in a three piece suit.
I awoke feeling as if a couple of filing cabinets or a small commuter vehicle were pressing me into the mattress, and the feeling persisted throughout the day. I can’t explain this. I’ll cheerfully entertain any speculations.