Daydreams are nice. My daydream of heaven is a little cottage at the edge of the woods with a nice garden and a patio between the flower gardens and the woods. You'd see an occassional bunny or deer, of course, but no snakes, mice, bugs (except butterflies and lady bugs) or bears or wolves. You get the drift. Sabrina, the black cat that was my best friend for 18.5 years would be in the cottage; outside would be the two best cats from my childhood, a tuxedo named Snoopie and a ginger tabby named Maple. Outside because they loved the outdoors; Sabrina inside because I had to keep her in for her tendency to beat up other cats for sport and if she couldn't find a cat, she'd beat up a dog. She was very vicious and knew how to fight. She's beat up a German Shepherd and a Doberman. So she'd be the indoor and Maple and Snoopy the outdoor cats.
Just something nice like this:
It would, of course, just be a mile to a nice nearby village with a nice cafe where I could sit and have lunch every day and good conversation with other friendly regulars which would, of course, include all the family and friends near and dear to me but hopefully a few new faces too. Spend a couple of hours there midday each day and then back home to my books, a few good sitcoms and movies and occassional evenings out. Because, of course, all the chronic pain and illness and mobility issues would be gone and I could enjoy a nice walk again. Not to mention there'd only be good people there so you wouldn't have to worry about those who would do you harm.
Well, it's nice to dream about anyway. I guess the earthly equivalent would be this in minature somewhere where it's assessible for my power chair.