Earl Yorke

Now this one is funny. I can only remember a little bit of it, but anyone who lives near Ogunquit (or any other tourist trap) will surely get a kick out of it. It is not an epic story. Rather, it is one created from all of my summer memories of various Ogunquit rent-a-cops doing just what they are meant to do: absolutely nothing important. I’m not posting this because it has any relevance to my writing… it will surely not appear in any of my stories. I am just trying to keep this dream journal as complete as possible…

I am walking through downtown Ogunquit, Maine as a number of people stand at the edge of the street cheering something that is passing in the road. I assume that it is just some parade… it doesn’t matter. Nothing in this town matters to me…

I am walking for quite some time before I notice that I am cradling my cat, Sammy (Sammantha, Sammy-Gata, Doctor Jones… we call her a bunch of names) in my arms. Am I bringing her to the vet? Was she missing, and I finally found her on the streets of Brown-Town (respectfully… as I can put it… hehehe, I don’t judge though)? I don’t know the answers to any of the questions that race through my head, even in dreams.

I immediately begin walking in the reverse direction that I had come in, back toward my home, which is a good 1 1/2 miles away… if not more. Conveniently, as soon as I turn around I find myself face-to-face with a stereotype; a rent-a-cop straddling a mountain bike, clad in spandex and a gray-collered shirt boasting the “Ogunquit PD” logo just over his left nipple. Great… what could I have done to attract his attention?

“A cat in public, and without a license,” he observes, giving me that whole I’m powerful look.

Since when did I need a license to carry my cat through “public”? Have any of you ever watched the Blue Collar Comedy Tour? Tater Salad! I say nothing. I wait for him to continue his little power-speech.

“I’m gonna do you a favor,” he says, running a hand up through his high-and-tight hair. He produces a chain-like bracelet from his side-arm holster and places it around my left wrist. I find it funny now that he didn’t actually carry a pistol there. Most rent-a-cops aren’t allowed to carry one. He locks the bracelet with a heavy pad-lock and then pushes me aside, making his way past me down the street.

Am I the pet in this dream? Is that why he attached this bracelet to my arm? What a silly thing to dream about.

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