The walk back to the Scratching Post Plaza was a masterclass in deception. Noah forced himself to limp slightly, dragging his left foot. He rounded his shoulders, shrinking his frame to look smaller, less threatening. He practiced the vacant, eager expression he had worn for years—the look of a pet waiting for a treat.
But inside, his mind was a fortress. I am Noah. That is my boat. That was my daughter. This is a lie.
When they reached the gates of the Plaza, the neon lights were buzzing to life, casting long, garish shadows across the red carpet.
"Remember," Mittens whispered, his green eyes glowing in the dark. "You know nothing. You are happy. You are a pet. If you slip up, if you show even a spark of intelligence, he will snuff it out."
"I know the drill," Noah muttered.
Mittens vanished into a drainpipe, leaving Noah alone.
Noah took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the synthetic air of the city. He approached the Siamese guards.
"I have the items," he mumbled, letting his voice crack. He held up the Ark and the sleeper.
The guards sniffed him. They lingered on the pocket where the Ring was hidden, but eventually, they stepped aside. The heavy oak doors of the Palace groaned open.
Mr. Purr-sident was waiting. He was tapping a claw impatiently on the mahogany desk, creating a rhythmic click-click-click that echoed in the silent room.
"You took your time," the massive tuxedo cat growled. "I was about to send the Doberman Squad to retrieve my property. And your carcass."
Noah walked to the desk. He placed the Ring, the Ark, and the Pink Sleeper on the polished wood. He made sure his hands trembled.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Purr-sident," Noah said, keeping his eyes lowered to the cat's paws. "The rain... it made me slow. I got lost in the fog. It was scary."
Mr. Purr-sident stopped tapping. He leaned forward, his massive head looming over the artifacts. He sniffed the Ring, his whiskers twitching. He nudged the Ark with a paw, testing its weight. Finally, he rested his gaze on the pink sleeper.
For a moment, the cat's expression shifted. The arrogance melted away, replaced by a profound, ancient sadness.
"The Soft Shell," the cat murmured, his voice barely audible. "She used to wear this when she slept. Before the... before the bad days. Before the tubes."
Noah's heart hammered against his ribs like a fist. She? He knows her. He remembers her.
"Who, sir?" Noah asked, injecting a tone of innocent, bovine curiosity into his voice. "Who wore it? Was it another pet?"
Mr. Purr-sident snapped out of his reverie. His eyes hardened instantly, the slit pupils dilating. "None of your business, pet. You ask too many questions. Questions are a sign of an unhappy mind."
The cat opened the drawer and swept the precious memories inside with a violent swipe. Thwack. The drawer slammed shut, locking away the baby, the promise, and the marriage.
"You look terrible," Purr-sident noted, looking Noah up and down with distaste. "Wet. Shivering. Smelling of despair. Go to your room. The auto-feeder has been filled with the Premium Salmon blend tonight. Consider it a bonus."
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Noah said. He bowed, clumsy and submissive. "I live to serve. The salmon is... generous."
He turned and walked away. He could feel the cat watching him, analyzing his gait, looking for any sign of the man who had stood tall on the beach. Noah forced himself to drag his feet until the heavy doors clicked shut behind him.