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The entirety of my upper level apartment was transformed into some kind of rocket launch pad training facility, perhaps resembling also a mix between [1] a gymnasium, [2] an office in the White House, and [3] a quickly built military facility illuminated by perhaps fluorescent lights. I was being trained over a course of weeks, and every morning, President Obama would personally meet with me to brief me on an upcoming mission, or to just offer moral support. One morning during our routine face-time, I noticed he had coffee stains all over his blue button-down shirt. I admired that he was able to laugh it off, a sign that he is indeed focused on the things that matter. One day, the ceiling of my apartment was replaced with massive rocket engines whose diameter easily covered the entire house, which implied that a whole rocket ship was towering above like a skyscraper. They commenced some minor blast tests of the rockets while I was in my apartment. This was somehow not dangerous. Essentially a powerful dusty wind was simply blowing straight down from these engines in my ceiling. During one of such tests, my balcony door must have ripped open, and sure enough, my hyperactive mischievous black cat Nico escaped onto the balcony. I immediately chased him, which prompted him to run full speed right off the western edge of the balcony. I panicked, registering this moment as a disaster to the entire mission for which I had trained for so long with President Obama. The rocket skyscraper was about to take off. This was not a test. I writhed with the realization that my cat caused me to be missing from the pilot seat all the way at the top of the ship at the critical hour. I thought all of this the moment he sprinted over the edge, and it culminated in me as a massive bellowing of the word "NO" which made its way to my voice in bed in reality.