A Lack of Vision

A kitten peers out from behind a wall, only one eye visible.
It’s hard to find royalty-free images of blind kittens, you know?

Dreamt last night that…

Look, I know that other people’s dreams aren’t always the most interesting to read. It’s just that I haven’t had the energy to write much at all lately, but this morning, for some reason, my fingers itched to tap out something, and I had this weird image stuck in my head from the moment my eyes opened, and I’m taking advantage of it.

Journeys begin with a single step, and all that. Y’know?

So in my dream, I adopted a tiny baby kitten with one eye. A little floof, all awkward movement and meows, grey or maybe black, and it had exactly one eye, it’s right eye. The other eye wasn’t damaged or anything; there was just blank fur on the other side, like nothing was even meant to go there.

And this little kitten was very devoted to me. It would follow me around, up and down the stairs in my apartment, always wanting to be near, in what would normally be un-cat-like behavior.

As I went about my daily routine for hours, in dream-time, although it was more likely a montage of feelings and images, I’d reach out to pet its fur, and it would curl up next to me, or in my lap, or even climb up on my shoulders.

It was scooting around near my feet, and I was afraid of kicking it or stepping on it, so I reached down to pick it up, and… I fumbled briefly, it started to turn around, and… I popped its one eye off. Dream logic.

I distinctly remember an audible sound, a cork in a bottle coming free, and I saw the eye fly in an arc away, bounce off the floor, and roll randomly.

The kitten did not seem in pain, but it was suddenly confused, mewing, head scanning back and forth. It, and I, did not understand what had just happened. I apologized profusely, and carried it with me in the direction of the eyeball’s escape. I found a small box filled with things, and I rooted around among the contents, and did not find the kitten’s eyeball, but did find a package of googly eyes. You know the ones, they sell them in craft stores, little bubbles of plastic with a round black disk in them, and a sticker on the back for sticking to things.

I opened the package and got out two, peeled the protective tape from the back, and carefully stuck them on to the kitten’s face. And, again, dream logically, it could suddenly see again. It looked clownish and more than a little odd. But I’d given it vision again.

I had repaired the damage I’d done, but in a temporary or off-putting way. That’s the feeling I get from this dream. My intentions are good, but I’m just not quite up to the task of doing the thing being asked of me. Inadequate. Ineffective. Over my head.

These are strange days, my fellow quaranteers. Strange days, indeed.