“It is a satisfying sleep, made even more enjoyable by a dream which, as nearly as I can recall, has something to do with Marla Maples and a long feather. The details are hazy, but I remember her saying something about being sick of yachts and diamonds and what she really wanted all along was a middle-aged newspaper writer who could take her bowling. She is purring and calling me "The D.L." And then she produces this long feather and starts to brush it gently across my forehead, then down my cheek and over my lips and... Which is when I wake up and realize that it is not a dream. Something really is brushing across my face. I open one eye. The first thing I see is not Marla, It is not even Ivana. It is the southern end of a northbound cat. "Get out of my face," I mumble.”