When I turned back to my rest, a great, yellow and green-eyed tiger was rolling about, scratching up and stretching my blankets. Several other smaller cats, lynxes, leopards, and lemurs, crawled about, sniffing the area. Their whiskers quivered, and they watched me, waiting for my response.
I walked backwards to my house, turned and ran at the last few steps. I burst into my parents' bedroom, and found Father away from his bed. I could see his legs under the half door of the bathroom.
"Father," I yelled, "there's a great tiger about to come kill us!"
"All right, all right," he moaned. "I'll be there in a moment."
I could hear the tiger in the kitchen, pulling out drawers, banging cupboards closed, looking for a knife.
"Mother," I cried, "stand behind me. This is the end!"
Father emerged from the bathroom, and he stepped out of himself, so that one of his person stood over by the window, gun in hand, looking bored. His other, grey self came and wrapped his arms around Mother and me.
We could hear the tiger clawing at the door, rattling the knob. The foundations of the house shook and the door combusted in quiet smoke.
The tiger stood there, looking like a disfigured man who filled the space of the door. His head looked bloated, his features had come loose and wandered about his face. But his yellow-green eyes pulsed and bulged from their sockets. He took a fish fillet knife in his fist and began to carve out his left eye.
And I awoke.
