Personal Log, Lt. Jen Lee

Stardate 9903.02

A rapidly moving funnel comes flying through space, directly overhead. "Class 2B type 12!"

The funnel disappears, to be replaced by a writhing multicolored tunnel. "Class 7A type 35!"

Equations start spinning around in space, superimposing different visual stimuli resembling tornados, cosmic strings and worms. "Stop! Stop! Too much! Please! Only one at a time!"

***

The person is tossing and turning in bed, in the throws of a nightmare. Ophelia, only five minutes before was sleeping peacefully curled up on her person's stomach. Now, she sat on the very edge of the bed, watching her person pretend to catch mice. She cocks her head to one side. Her nostrils flare.

"Nope, not catching mice. Running away from dog." She stands up and quivers. "Never did like those dreams. I guess I've got to do something about that."

Trying not to get batted away from her person's arms, she carefully makes her way to the head of the bed. She sits next to the person's head ... safest place to be, and still be on the bed. "I'll just sit here. She usually wakes up when I do that."

Ophelia starts cleaning her front paw while she waits. After cleaning both of her front paws, and her face, she realizes that her person is still being chased by a dog. "Must be one big dog. I know what will get her up."

She carefully positions her nose in her person's ear, and begins to purr as loudly as she can. Within a minute or two, her person stops squirming on the bed, and quiets. Gently, Ophelia crawls back to her person's stomach and falls asleep.

***

The funnels and equations are replaced by a warm, fuzzy, soft orange light. Jen feels at peace. She falls into a deep slumber, and feels her personal heating pad replace itself on her tummy.