So I'm sitting there alone, in my smallish, dankish apartment, hugely pregnant. J is not home. Effortlessly, I give birth to two, adorable, female twins. They are perfect, except that one of them has two tails growing out of the back of her head. Also, they are both orange tabby kittens that bear a striking resemblance to my cat Monty. While slightly concerned about the extra and misplaced tails, I am not bothered by the cross-species birth. I cuddle my new daughters. There is no attempt to breastfeed. I reach for the phone to call my mother, but decide to call J instead. "Twins!" I proclaim. "Both girls!" I do not bother to mention the fur, claws, or anything kitten-related. I consider calling my mother again, but do not.
I pace around the apartment. A neighbor pops in the door and either drops of or removes a large bag of wood shavings from the entryway, I am not paying much attention. I sit on the brown tweed couch, which is located about 3 feet from the television. I am sure something like Montel or Jerry Springer is on, but I am concentrating more on the increasingly squirmy kittens trying to get out of my lap. By the time J returns home, I cannot contain them in my arms or lap entirely, and I think the two head-tails have disappeared. My babies are normal. No one seems to think otherwise.
Then I wake up.