I've been walking endlessly in the sand for miles. I'm alone. At least I think I'm alone. The desert never ends. A cat in the desert? What the fuck am I doing here. How did I get here? The sun is burning my ears and my paws are turning to a crisp in the sand. I may be lost, but I know I can't stop, I need to keep going straight, just pick a cloud and go as far as I can. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. That's my mantra. Everything looks the same, I don't know what's up or down anymore, am I walking upside down? I need to stand up straight, once you begin to slouch it's a done deal. You're toast. Speaking of toast, I'm so hungry, I'm so thirsty. My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth, probobly because my mouth is filled with sand. Sand all the way down my throat and sand in my belly. Sand is filling my ears and sand filling my bladder. I'm more sand than cat. It's weighing me down. Dragging. And then I heard it, faint at first, "Slow Ride" by Foghat. I was confused, then I felt the hand on my shoulder jerk me backwards and like a flash I was sitting in a chair. A white room with air conditioning, a deli counter with a Giantex hot dog roller machine, 7 non-stick rollers rotating with 18 plump dogs levitating over the removable stainless steel drip tray and a spotless glass hood cover, anyone would recognize it, truly a work of art. It was my turn to order.