Last night I dreamed I stole a litter of Ragdoll kittens, took them to target practice where I was apparently a police officer with a weird gun (its name was emblazoned on the side: Cumbucket) with a dodgy safety (imagine if Fisher Price did .33 calibre weaponry).  Some of the multitude of small children mingling at my feet caught a teeny, tiny, surprisingly fast-moving kitten (not one of the ones I’d stolen earlier, either) which I then confiscated (having dropped Cumbucket on the floor - a point which later came back to bite me in the ass) and fed before abandoning to the tender mercies of my own two cats, one of which was apparently a wolf now.

I then spilled stirfry on my work keyboard, had a bath in the middle of the road, realised I’d lost the gun, went and found the gun, and woke up.

I don’t remember what I ate before I went to bed but its effects are hardcore.