Toronto Odyssey #2: Dr. Doolittle But Kill.

I never remember my dreams. My sleep issues run so deep that my brain doesn't have time for REM by the time I actually manage to get to snoozieland. But I took a cat nap today and had visions that were so strange and disturbing that I realized I should probably finish my Toronto story as means of exorcism. But first, I have to tell you about this fucking dream.

I was at my Grandmother's house, which had been transformed into a building which was a cross between the movie House and various other naughty structures. Rickety, dark, old, evil smelling, foreboding - an uncanny resemblance to the real thing. My Grandmother was gone, presumably already in 'the home', and she had a large variety of animals left behind. All of which had to be killed. By me.

My sister was there, but she was busy packing stuff up and getting ready to leave for Boston. My task was domestic housepet genocide, and I was expected to do it by others in the house as casually as they were cleaning, organizing and inventorying. There were cats which I neck-wrung without difficulty (which is ridiculous because I love cats). A rabbit which I stomped. I think I drowned at least one hamster. A giant furry beetle which I tore into pieces and fed to other furry beetles before then massacring his buddies, too. But when I got to the attic there was one pet left which I could not bring myself to assassinate.

A large-eyed dog, some sort of terrier, was cowering from me up there, behind 30 years of curio crap. I picked it up, brought it downstairs and pleaded with my sister to quietly put it in her car and take it to Beantown with her. She eventually agreed, and I started taking loads of trash to the dump like I'd spent the morning re-arranging a sock drawer.

What is the worst or most bizarre dream you've ever had? Should I just check into an evaluation facility right now?