Vivid Encounter

Another lucid dream. I know it is because, actually, I’m lying on a hammock in the backyard listening to the birds sing. Or am I?

I hear scrunching and growling, and I sit up, scanning the yard and bushes. Nothing. So, back to my dream of swinging gently in the hammock, a light summer breeze brushing my face. Roses… I smell the fragrance of those deep red roses climbing high for more sun. I sniff one, and yellow pollen gets into my nose. Sneezing furiously; no tissue nearby. I walk to the porch, grab a glass of cucumber water, and some pale pink tissues. I love the colored ones, though everyone says the dye is bad. I mean, come on, how much dye is in a Kleenex? Enough to kill you? How many would you need to use per day to make it a threat to your body? Shut up, mind. You are wandering far, disturbing my nap. Wait, am I napping?

Who is that over there in my yard? I don’t recognize… oh… Grandpa. Pops, in his old overalls and rubber boots, was pruning the roses and shrubs.

“Pops!” He’s almost deaf, so I yell it louder. “Pops!” He walks through the fence and disappears. This is one helluva dream. Should I wake up? HOW do I wake up?

Scrunching and growling hit my ears again, and I spill the cucumber drink all over my bare legs. “Dammit!”

Then I see movement. Tawny haunches, crouched, and golden eyes watching me. “Shit! A cougar!” It is stalking me. I can’t stand; I’m frozen, in shorts, with cucumber-splashed water down my legs. Paralyzed on the porch steps, an easy target. I want to stand up and make myself big, but I can't move. My eyes can shift, and my brain is moving at the speed of a bullet train, yet it will not engage my body parts.

The sleek beast is slinking closer, and I try to scream, but no sound comes. My nose betrays me with an enormous sneeze, then another. The cat has stopped, but it has me in its sights. Why can’t I wake up? Am I asleep or on the porch? Help, help, help.

The muscles on its back ripple as it moves in, low to the ground, quiet, stealthy – me its target. Help, help, help. My throat hurts from the effort. I gulp again and again, and my chest hurts.

Where is Pops? He would make this cougar leave. Pops, help me! Even the birds are quiet; they know a predator is here. I try to move my feet, wiggling my bare toes. Nothing. Another foot closer, its haunches still crouched, waiting to spring.

Finally, I get my left arm to move. I twirl it in a circle above my head and see those golden eyes watching it, then catch my gaze again. I blink slowly at her. Him? I don’t know. I can’t tell if it’s female or male in that slinky position. Stare, blink, stare, blink slowly. It’s a signal to a cat that you are not a threat. I do it over and over and over until I want to cry, and it keeps staring at me, eyes fixed on me, its dinner. Blink, blink, slowly. Oh! She turned her head away. Will she leave? I still can’t move, except for my twirling arm and my eyes. I focus on moving my toes or my shoulders, anything, to defend myself.

“Mommie, wake up.” I hear someone… is that my little Peter? No, the cougar will kill him. Suddenly, I am sitting on a concrete path, surrounded by people looking down at me. My small son is crying, and I see a woman in uniform with a stethoscope around her neck. A sign above the bleachers reads “Cougar Exhibit. Do not run near the enclosure.” I shake my head, rubbing my eyes. My toes are bare, and Peter is holding my sandals. “Mommie!” He climbs into my lap.

“She will be okay now. She had a seizure and bumped her head.” She ruffles Peter’s hair. “I want you to come with me to the EMT vehicle so we can check you over.” She grabs my twirling arm and gently bends it toward my waist while her male partner lifts me to my feet.

I look around, and the gawkers have moved on.

As we walk slowly out of the area, I feel eyes on me. Turning, I am eye-to-eye with a cougar. She is sitting, licking a paw and cleaning her face. As she licks her paw, her eyes zero in on me. Each time. Stare. Lick slowly, rub face. Stares, licks slowly, gazes at me intently, then rubs her face.

Copyright © 6/7/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin. Thanks for stopping by! 😃 If you like ♡ my scribbles, hit the subscribe button. Please consider leaving a comment. ✍️❤️