Somehow I had suspected earlier, in the dream background, that there was something making my room smell like smoke. Then, in the dream narrative, my (now-dead) mother postulated that my (now-dead) cat had picked up a burning cigarette that was lying around and carried it somewhere where it was emitting smoke. Turned out, when I went into the basement, there was a bonfire-ish fire going, on the floor, and a hole in the ceiling above, where the floor of my room was. I shouted the news to Mom as I turned the large but barely-functional fire extinguisher on the flames. Looked like it would do the trick, if frustratingly wimpy-spurtishly.
In the middle of the night the dream---perhaps joining the recent news of fires in local apartments and that dead-of-winter thing that makes house fires seem more likely (and I could tie it to a few other fire things)---seemed to be saying I need to be more careful in my precautions. And, yeah, I'll do the smoke detector thing. But my broader consciousness also knows there's something else in there about precautions, and realities, and drugs, and extinguishers, and denial. Not that I know what the fuck-all it is. But it's there.