There was more to the beginning of this dream, that I've forgotten, but it was green, lush, and spacy like cloudy skies at dawn. John Cleese, the warlock, was the main player and spy. There was something intriguing about him, and I had to send him back to his own time from the airport, and he went off. I was sorry for it, but I didn't have a choice.
The next dream I was at home where I grew up on the front porch, just an observer, and there was a big orange and white stipey cat who was in a big concrete old-fashioned bird bath with little gargoyles entwined within Celtic knot work. He seemed to be walking on the water in the bath but upon closer view he was sludging through warm molten wax.
