Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ongoing house arrest seems to be getting to Ol’ Robbo, because I had a dream last night that I went back to my office, which I haven’t actually seen since March 12.

In the dream, the exterior of the building looked as it really does, but for some reason the interior looked like the halls of the Gels’ high school. As I wandered along, I met one of my colleagues, who said he had got me “dibs” on an interior room. “Why would I want that when I already have a nice window office?” I said.

When I got to my own digs, I discovered that two construction foremen had spread all their material and equipment around, even hanging blueprints and maps up on the walls. “How long are you going to be here?” I asked. “Oh, about a year and a half,” they said.

I then went next door to complain to my chief. “Oh, they always do that,” was her only reply.

Since I obviously couldn’t work in my office, I decided I might as well just go home again. As I was leaving the building, however, I thought maybe I should go round the halls one more time to say hello, just in case anybody I knew was there. As I was turning back, I woke up.

Complicating things was the fact that during the entire course of the dream I was holding a large, grey cat, a British Shorthair, in fact. I held it in one arm like a small child. It, in turn, had a paw draped round my neck and its head laid on my shoulder. I was constantly worried that somebody would ask me the cat’s name, as I just couldn’t quite remember what it was. Fortunately, nobody did.

It was only as I was starting to rise to the surface of consciousness that I remembered the cat’s name was, in fact, Sedgwick, after the famous Civil War general. (If and when we ever get another male cat, I may keep this in mind.)

So there you have it.