amelancholycharm:

“But it was here that I felt something rough and furry brushing against my face, and I opened my eyes to find my cat rubbing her whiskers against my own, in a feline form of morning’s greeting, while the uncertain light of dawn filtered through the bedroom curtains.  Thus I came to the end of my opium dream, which left me no other memento than a vague and persistent sense of melancholy.”

Théophile Gautier, upon awakening after a wild night smoking opium with friends and dreaming of his beloved, encountering the familiar “dude, are you still breathing?” morning-after cat stare.

@feuillyova, this made me think of your “kitten on the head” story – minus the opium of course.