A few years ago, we lost a cat named Obadiah. It turned out that she was a girl, but we didn't know that until after we had named her. Anyhow, she was twelve when she went outside one night and never came back. I learned later that there had been a fox in the area, so we figured that was what had happened to her. Obie was the most gentle cat I've ever had, and one of the largest. She was a real lap cat, which was interesting because her mom was a tiny feral adult when we took her in. Obie was born in our house though, and was very much a house cat. Whenever I think of Obie, particularly in the way she was probably lost, I cry. I miss her a lot, even though she has been gone for more than three years. Last night, I dreamed that she had returned. Of course, I was ecstatic to have her back and she seemed happy to be back. My wife and I both held her, and talked to her, and she purred. Then she went into some kind of an opening in a piece of furniture. It's hard for me to determine just what it was, either because it wasn't clear in my dream or because I have forgotten the details, but she went into this opening and disappeared. Trying to find her, I looked into the hole and heard what sounded like music coming from it faintly, as if it led to another room or something, from which music was playing lightly. But of course, the hole was too small for me to get into it, and I couldn't see into it. Later, I heard what sounded like faint voices from within the hole. Then Obie was back, but she just put her paws up on me as if she wanted my attention. Then she started walking toward the piece of furniture again. I picked her up and begged her not to go, but to stay with us. She rubbed her head on me, but kept trying to get down. "No, Obie. Stay. We love you. Stay here with us." Then she hissed at me, and drew back her paw as if to slap me. I held her and kept talking to her and she started growling loudly, while hissing and slapping at me as if she really needed me to know that she was serious but that she didn't want to actually scratch me. Still I held her, and then she went wild, to a point where I believed she was going to hurt me. In her struggles, she got away and jumped into the hole in the piece of furniture again. But this time when I looked, I could no longer find a hole. It was a solid piece of wood.