Do you ever see wild animals?

Especially in the dead of the night, after eating cheese. They stare at me with their oily black eyes until I’m stood stock still, rigid with fear. Then, on some kind of psychic cue, they slip back their lips to show me the killer razors they have for teeth. One of them, the leader of the pack, then goes for my throat in a single leap, as if projected from a spring. His fellow beasts see that as a signal and lunge likewise at whichever part of my body looks tasty. After five minutes there isn’t much of me left. That’s when I wake up.