One night, I dreamed I was a rat.
Not a wise, philosophical rat — just a regular crumb-sniffing, cheese-thieving, garbage-can connoisseur.
I scurried through alleys, feasted on pizza crusts, and heroically dodged broom-wielding humans. Life was glorious.

Then I woke up.
I was me again — a human, sitting in my kitchen, staring at the leftover cheese in the fridge.

Now I’m stuck wondering…
Was I a man who dreamed he was a rat?
Or am I just a rat dreaming I’m a man, and the rent is due?

Either way, I still want the cheese.