I am watching a movie preview. Not the usual sort. This is a critic who is casting himself forward one hundred years and presents himself as an ordinary guy cleaning out his garage, where he finds boxes full of old movies. The previewer goes through the process for us of which he will keep and which are to be tossed.
He says,"....`Leipzig Sandrun' - keep..."
He calls out the titles of several other movies, most of them tosses, but that's the only title I recall. I had tuned in because I had contributed to the writing of a movie and wanted to know how it might stand up in time. It wasn't mentioned.
Uh-oh, there's a leopard down on the canyon floor. I say, foolish of us to be here without quick access to height. I look for a tree (in my delirious planning I try and forget the relative tree-climbing prowess of us and the leopard)... She is tawny in color, with her spots darker but her flavor more that of wet cement, or like the finish of statues meant for your garden.
She approaches, and I realize now, she's a leopard kitten. She rubs against me, and I'm petting her, and a little pup joins us. It will be trouble later, I know, but it's all right now.
Will comes into the scene, smiling, and he drops on us adoption forms, already completed and verified. The pup and the leopard kitten are now ours. Will takes care of everything so efficiently.
Too bad about my movie though...