The walk back to the Scratching Post Plaza was quiet. Noah felt heavy. The initial adrenaline of the quest had evaporated, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that made his marrow ache. Every step felt like walking through molasses.
The bright, saturated colors of the city were fading into a dull grey as evening approached. The joyful meows of the day were replaced by the distant, eerie caterwauling of cats in heat—or perhaps cats in mourning.
"I have the items," Noah whispered, mostly to himself. "Does that mean... I win?"
"There is no winning," Mittens said, stopping near a sewer grate near the entrance to the Presidential Palace. "There is only continuing. Good luck with the Boss. Don't let him see you sweat. Cats can smell fear, remember?"
"Thanks, Mittens," Noah said.
The cat vanished into the dark, leaving Noah alone at the towering gates.
He entered the palace. The Siamese guards sniffed him thoroughly, their cold noses pressing against his legs, before opening the heavy oak doors.
Mr. Purr-sident was waiting. The office was dimly lit now, illuminated only by a lamp shaped like a glowing goldfish bowl. The playful atmosphere of the morning was gone.
"You're late," the cat rumbled. He wasn't smoking his catnip cigar anymore. He was staring at a wall of monitors. Noah glanced at them—they showed static. Just endless, snow-white static.
"I... I found them, sir," Noah said, his voice cracking. He stepped forward and placed the Space Drawing and the Picture Frame on the massive desk.
Mr. Purr-sident stopped staring at the static. He turned his gaze to Noah. For a moment, his eyes weren't yellow and slit-pupiled; they were human, tired, behind thick glasses. A flash of a man in a white coat. Then, he blinked, and he was a cat again.
"The Space Drawing," Purr-sident mused, tapping the paper with a sharp claw. "And the Portrait. Yes. These will do nicely for the collection."
"The girl..." Noah started, the words catching in his throat like a fishbone. "In the picture. I felt... I felt like I knew her. Sir, who is she?"
Mr. Purr-sident stiffened. The fur on his back rose slightly. He swiped the items off the desk into an open drawer with a swift, dismissive motion. Thwack. The drawer slammed shut, locking away the memories.
"Confusion is a side effect of the atmosphere," Purr-sident said coldly, his voice devoid of warmth. "Don't overthink it, Noah. Thinking causes wrinkles. Wrinkles are ugly. We want you smooth and happy."
He pushed a button on his desk. A panel in the floor slid open, revealing a metal bowl.
Clatter. Clatter. Clatter.
Brown, dry pellets poured into the bowl from a chute in the ceiling.
"Your reward," Purr-sident said. "Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. We need to find the Ring."
Noah looked at the bowl. It smelled of processed fish and corn. His stomach roared with hunger, betraying his dignity. He wanted to flip the bowl. He wanted to scream. He wanted to demand to know why he had seen a hospital room in a charcoal sketch.
But he was so tired.
He fell to his knees. He told himself he would stand up. He told himself he would demand answers.
He ate.
The food was dry and chalky, forcing him to chew slowly. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, shame burning his cheeks.
"Good boy," Purr-sident said, his voice softer now, almost pitying. "Go to your kennel, Noah. The world is too big for you right now. Let us handle the thinking."
Noah stumbled back to his room. The door clicked locked behind him. He crawled onto the oversized cushion, curling into a ball. The room was dark, silent save for the hum of the ventilation.
He closed his eyes, desperate for sleep, desperate to forget the static and the fear. But as he drifted off, the image of the charcoal girl burned behind his eyelids.
Katy, he thought. I'm sorry I ate the kibble. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough yet.
Somewhere in the distance, a cat howled at the moon. It sounded remarkably like a man crying in the dark.