I'm downtown, waiting for a bus, and I see my neighbors - they're Mexicans, actually a large family, here's the mother and a couple of daughters. We chat, and some others in the family come along, husband I guess, and other sons & daughters. They were just in the vicinity and are going to give the wife et al a lift home. I seem to be excluded, which I think is pretty tacky. They walk along to where the car is, and after a hesitation I tag along, trying to chat with the younger son, who's somewhat retarded and who I have previously had a sort of amiable relationship with. He's dressed up in a suit, rather unusual, and he's not interested in talking to me - in fact, we stop for a bit and as we're facing each other I can see he's looking at me with real hostility. Very strange. I'm disconcerted and figure I better just go on off my merry way. Elsewhere on the street, further up, I'm walking along with my purse firmly clamped under my arm. (It has a shoulder strap, too, but I also have it pinned like a clutch bag for safety. It's taupe, a soft bag, like that one I gave Michelle but smaller.) I feel a tug on it, and turn around to see what's going on. A sleazy-looking little man in an ill-fitting suit has hold of it - he thought he could just snatch it, apparently, and since I have it firmly he didn't get it. He looks at me menacingly, as if I'd better let go of the thing or I'd be sorry, and I pull back on it again, very indignant. Neither of us makes a sound. I'm not anxious to cause a scene if he'll just let go, maybe he'll think twice about purse-snatching again. He apparently just wants me to be intimidated into letting him have it because he could hurt me - indeed, he starts to reach into his jacket for something, making an expression that's supposed to be warning me - I guess he's got a gun or a knife, but I'm not going for it, not yet anyway. There's lots of people around, he could hardly get away with it - though at the same time I realize he probably could, the way things are today. I'm worried about that sort of thing. Still, I yank on my purse before he can reach whatever it is, and get it free. I hustle on ahead. It goes through my mind that I ought to hold my purse further forward to make it harder for somebody to grab from behind, then I picture myself always carrying my purse (and whatever) clutched tightly to my chest like I'm paranoid, then I picture everybody, all the people going up and down the street, carrying their stuff like that, all holding on for dear life. Ludicrous, really. Oh well. I stop to tell a policeman, who's standing a bit further up the street, what happened, but he's not interested. I go on to this hotel-apartment house that I'm (staying?) in. [It looks like a lot of places I've seen in England - long hallways, old-looking but solid, very well kept, plain, dark wood stair-rails, etc.) This man runs it [he has a bit of Jerry Haynes and Walter Pidgeon in him] and we're trying to hide Elvis Presley. I'm a sort of companion, although there are some others involved in this effort, and we've come to this man as a contact who will help hide Elvis and get him away. The man is rather on the suspicious side himself, though - rather odd, a dapper little guy with a silly little mustache, cryptic, secretive. I'm not comfortable with him. I meet them in "our" room, and put my things down, coat over the back of the couch, etc., and we go down the hall a few yards, up a few steps and around a corner to another room. The man leaves, we're to wait. I think about my purse again after a few minutes, realizing it's just sitting on the back of the couch, very noticeable, and we didn't shut the door - there's nobody about, the place might be deserted except for us, but I'm worried. I know I shouldn't leave Elvis alone, but I get antsy, and after a few more minutes I decide it'll be okay to just dash back to the room and fix it. I look all down the hall - there's nobody to be seen, no sounds - and I go. My purse is there, but as I pick it up it seems to feel different, lighter, like something's missing. I check briefly, but it seems okay - checkbook's there, that would be the biggest thing. Don't know, maybe it's lighter because I had something in it earlier that usually isn't, oh well. I take it back with me to the other room. Elvis isn't there. Uh-oh. I look all over for him - this is a kind of suite, it has a kitchen and living area - an efficiency apartment? No Elvis. The man comes back, some other people too, one of whom is a girlfriend of mine. We discuss the matter, and divide up. Somebody goes out, the man gets on the phone. It's also getting on for dinnertime, and we're cooking something. I figure we want some cinnamon for this dish we've got going, and I think of a plant that's in the back of the room near the window. It has little leaves on it that [either are cinnamon, or taste like it], and I start to pick some off. I look out the window casually, and am surprised to see a dog lying on the grass. What's in back of this (house) is mostly trees, a little bit of yard, and a little railroad track. It's dark, and what light there is, is coming from here through the window. This dog looks funny, and I suddenly see blood on its head and I realize it's been hit (presumably by a train). It looks dead. Yuck. But as I watch, it moves - it was just hurt. It lifts its head up and shifts around, and I now realize it's not even a dog - I guess - maybe it is, but it's beginning to look like an elephant. That's very weird. I'm getting very confused, watching it. I realize that if it's an elephant, it must be a baby, if I mistook it for a dog. Geez. I suppose I'd better tell somebody about this, but I'm not sure I'm not hallucinating either. Wow. I go back into the room and mean to give the leaves to my friend for the pot, but before I do she shows me she found some old cinnamon somewhere and she's all ready to use that. I don't mention my leaves, though I feel rather shot down - it's amazing how "little" I feel, as if I were a little kid who'd been slighted by her parents. So I just poo-poo myself and carry on. We go into the dining room [this place has gotten bigger, you see] and we're talking. There's a dining table lengthwise in the room, a window at the end with filmy drapes, and just the daylight through them, so the room's in shadow. There's a chair or two away from the table, standing between us, having just come in the door, and the space next to the table. On the other side (in that space) is a very large papier-mache black bird. I don't know what it's for - though maybe it's something to do with an upcoming party the man's having - but I look at it briefly, it's rather neat. It moves, and at first I'm surprised but realize it's probably just tipped over, vibrated off balance. But then it moves again, and I'm sure it's done it on purpose. I say, "Stop that" as if it's alive, thinking how silly I sound, and remark to my girlfriend that I'm sure I saw it move. I go around the chair to get in front of it, as it's moved toward the table, and I squat down facing it. When I do, I realize it's actually a cat, not a bird; how could I have mistaken it for a bird? Strange. And it's very cunning, this thing. It doesn't quite look like papier-mache any more, it's got fur - and I notice two extra eyes looking at me, hidden in the black fur above the fake eyes. I stare for a minute, then realize what I'm seeing - by George, it's Elvis! This is a disguise! I tell my girlfriend to come see, and at first she doesn't either - this is really good! I explain to her what this is, and first she says, oh, pshaw, something like that. But then she sees, too, and is also dumbfounded. There are two blue eyes peeping through that fur! I don't know how he got in this outfit that fast, but it sure is a good way to hide. I suspect that the man has something to do with this, but I don't know.