Dreams are meaningless. Dreams are stupid. Dreams are the mental masturbation of a bored mind. You wouldn't try to analyze your feelings based on what square you landed on in Monopoly, and you shouldn't try to analyze your feelings from the crazy pictures your brain draws up.

Raoul, however, believes the opposite. Dreams mean something. Dreams illuminate the hidden meaning of past behavior, or predict the times ahead. When he woke up and said, "I can't believe what you did to my sqouse," I knew it was trouble.

"It was half squirrel and half mouse," he continued, as if details might provoke interest in me. I don't know why. I don't ask him to read Harry Potter books to me, and they have occasional nudity. "He could talk, but all he could say was, 'Hello!' in a really high voice, and finally you got tired of it. You put him in a bag and left him outside a Dominos Pizza." He paused for dramatic effect. "I want my squose back."

I was almost involved, for a split second, but the feeling quickly passed. Instead I just stared at him. I considered saying, "Does baby want his binky, too?" but that's never helped in the past. I let his blathering slide right off, but he bore a grudge that lasted hours.

Eventually he returned to reality, but of course it happened again. His puffy eyes were barely open before the chastising began. "You got rid of my gazowl!" he declared. "He could run really fast, and spin his head all the way around. One day you got completely sick of him, and you tied him to a big yellow balloon and he floated off into space."

I'm not totally insensitive to other peoples' feelings, so this time I tried to protest. "It was just a dream," I replied. "Gazowls" -- gazelles crossed with owls, I guessed -- "don't exist. And I would never tie an animal to a balloon when lovely rattan baskets are sooo cheap." Still, he wouldn't have it. For the next few days he was mad.

This time I fumed too. Really, it's hard enough to be responsible for my actions in real life; now I have to answer to my fictional behavior too?

So, the next time around I was ready. The second he opened his eyes and pointed them accusingly in my direction, I jumped. "YOU KILLED MY OTTERTLE!" I screamed, and he didn't share his dreams again for weeks.