Italian Dream

Reuben stirred in his sleep, his little paws twitching ever so slightly as a soft smile tugged at the corners of his face. In his dream, he was no longer curled up in the corner of a cafe in New York—he was gliding through the charming alleys in a small Italian village, the wind tugging gently at his ears.

They rode in a little blue scooter, naturally, with Reuben in the driver’s seat and Dougie tucked in a sidecar outfitted with cushions and a bell. They zipped through cobbled villages where old women waved from balconies and tossed them grapes. At a quiet vineyard, Dougie discovered a fondness for chilled lemonade, while Reuben happily nibbled at fresh focaccia under a fig tree. The pair marveled at crumbling ruins and sun-drenched piazzas, where Reuben insisted they pause for every espresso and every single scoop of gelato—“for research,” he claimed.

One night, they ended up in Venice, drifting in a gondola under a sky speckled with stars. Dougie hummed softly while Reuben leaned against him, watching reflections ripple in the water like soft memories. They spoke of time, of friendship, of the perfect cheese, and of never rushing through beautiful places or beautiful moments. When Reuben awoke back in his real bed—his travel dream fading like mist—he found a crumb of biscotti tucked under his whiskers and the unmistakable scent of lavender and lemon on the breeze.

Determined, he wanted to make dreams like this more of a reality.