Dream VI: Unnoticed Shapeshifter

A cat I can't catch, my cat, an oddly intelligent-looking, brooding creature, larger than average, elaborate organic designs incised on its fur like an oriental rug, running off down the street hair's widths away from oncoming traffic always about to be delicately deconstructed. Why not put a cat on a leash? I think to myself, questioning common knowledge. They don't like it? But so on and so on we reach DESTINATION, as we all must reach, an enclosure where people sit and sleep. Within, a friend is moving out suddenly and it seems that I will be moving into this place as well, all the rooms are oblong in the same direction, on a bed frame rests a dozen electric guitars stacked like the layers of a cake and a drum set, won't you be moving that out? Will someone be coming for this stuff? It's not yours? All these questions arise in my mind, but I neither ask them or are answered in any form. The equipment remains as it is, untouchable. As I wander through the place further, I open a door and exclaim about it's large size, but I suddenly realize that a pupil is being taught the trombone and the instructor glares at me the way only lifetime teachers can. Shut the door, why didn't you stop me? Shrug, they do that sometimes. But more importantly is that sometime along this fragmented narrative my cat companion has turned into a purple and gold canary which flutters its wings with the veracity of a hummingbird, flitting about the house to alight on surfaces too smooth to be grasped by the legs of a cockroach. I don't notice the shape shifting, it's ever so much more subtle in a dream. I grasp the critter in my fist gently heartbeating, tail feathers sticking out from between thumb and finger. Release. It alights on a wall and I inspect it further to find that it has three eyes, two in the normal positions and one in between, but off center towards the right side (my right). All three are open. Hmm, didn't notice that one before, oh well, looks pretty cool, I must remember to show it off to people. The chattering of ghosts in the next room, disembodied voices talking around synthetic flames, inspired. Seems to be a continuation of the dream into blackness, detested wakefulness with its own set of circumlocutions to describe its reality. Something to eat, something to drink, what an endless chore.