10:41 pm--Corner of Stanworth and 3rd

After Reynaldo died, he dreamed he was a cat.
Or rather, he dreamed that he had been a cat having a dream about being Reynaldo.
It was all very confusing, but when he woke up, he knew that something must change.
He knew this because the cat's dream of being Reynaldo had been so utterly and hopelessly boring. So boring, that even a housebroken calico, content to do nothing but lie in the sun while switching his tail and dozing off every few minutes had found his dream of being Reynaldo rather dull and pedestrian.
Things were making both more and less sense as Reynaldo was coming around. Someone was shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him questions that he wasn't quite able to discern--in fact he was having a hard time piecing together more than two or three words in a row. And yet everything seemed so clear. So much clearer than they had been in a long time.
He realized that he was staring at the ceiling. He pinched and then blinked open his eyes several times before he noticed that the ceiling was moving. The white tiles and humming florescents streaked overhead just quickly enough that he had a hard time focusing on them before they left his field of view. They turned a corner and he realized that it was he, and not the ceiling overhead that was moving. He straightened the fingers of his right hand and felt the cool metal frame of the hospital gurney he was apparently being conveyed upon.