It's December, and it's been a year since last December

I had a dream where my roommate Conor and I were waiting on a couch in a well-kept suburban living room for our host to arrive.

A cat entered the room. It had the head of a woman who was gracefully entering her middle-age. She cleaned herself with her tongue, hopped up on an ottoman on the far side of the room, smiled demurely, hopped down and left through the same doorway.

Conor and I were okay with this.