The Time My Lion Friend Helped Me Fight Injustice

Last night I dreamt that I went to an old, traditional college. Most of my classes were in two historical buildings—the Big House and the Little House. Both buildings were about the same size, but all the doors inside the Big House had been cut larger than normal doors, and all the doors in the Little House had been bolted shut and had new, tiny doors cut into them. The doors were so tiny that to get through them I'd have to scoot sideways along the ground.
The mascot of the Big House was a lion that we kept fenced in behind the building. He was an adult male, but he had a scraggly blond mane so that he looked like a lioness. I never told him that, however. After class I would go visit the lion and feed him huge chunks of raw meat. I was experimenting with different animals to see which ones he liked better—beef was okay, but I think he liked pork even better. (Of course, I was worried about trichinosis, so I didn't feed him pork very often.) I'm fairly sure the lion never spoke, but he did communicate telepathically with me. Mostly he just said "Hi, what have you got for me today?"

Anyway, one day a bunch of my friends and I got very tired of crawling on the ground to get into the Little House, which was run by a severe Victorian matron. We gathered some pickets and posters and decided to protest. Our protest marched across the quad and into the Little House, where we confronted the little doors, chanting. Then I pointed out the hinges to the larger doors in which the tiny doors we cut would still allow the large double glass doors to swing if we broke the bolt. Some of the other protesters pushed and pushed on the doors until the bolt broke and the doors swung wide.
Then we freaked out and scattered out of the building before we could be arrested by campus police for destroying campus property. Later, however, I was watching campus television and saw a report on the protest. There I was, right in front of everyone in a distinctive t-shirt with a turtle on it (which I was still wearing when I saw the report), running in front and looking like I was the leader even though I really just wanted to get away badly. The report also suggested that our protest was some kind of feminist march, since all of the protesters were women. I was worried that I would be arrested at any moment, and then I woke up.