I dreamed that I was visiting Notorious, Ph.D. (whom IRL I do not know that well) at her house, a small but charming bungalow in a pleasant neighborhood. She had been offered another job and needed to sell this house ASAP, and was worried about how long it would take in the present market. I asked what she wanted to get for it, and she named a ridiculously low price (ridiculous even for here, and completely absurd for the West Coast). I said that at that price, I would buy it, and she wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of showing it.
So she showed me around the house. There were 4 rooms downstairs; a full basement, and outside, the ground had been excavated so that basement windows looked out into deep light wells, rather as in the B&B where I stayed once in Edinburgh; and an attic bedroom. The main floor was sparsely furnished, tidy and functional; the bedroom my hostess used was there. The attic room was given over to antique linens and dolls, as well as (I gradually realized) four very beautiful long-haired cats, one Himalayan, one tortoiseshell, and two whose coats I couldn’t make out in the dim light.
Sir John liked the house, too. We couldn’t decide if we would rent it out during the school year and just visit in the summer, or if we would find a caretaker but leave it empty so that we could visit whenever we liked.
I have had what I call “house dreams” for many years. The houses are almost always someone else’s, which I am exploring. The owners are almost never there. I can remember only two other dreams in which the house belonged to a person I know IRL (as opposed to feeling that I know in the dream). The house is never the same twice, but I always know a “house dream” from any other sort of dream.