//Log #002

Dear reader, I have met someone strange. This person is completely baffling and contradictory to the point where my mind is consumed with thoughts of piecing them together. No, I'm not talking about my shoddy supervisor, though I do have gripes with him in all this. Let me back up and start from the inciting incident.

Actually, I should start two weeks ago when I stumbled upon a stray cat. It was after work that I found her meowing loudly on the corner of the cross street of my apartment. I failed to mention before that since getting a position in Records, I used my larger income to rent an apartment of my own. Anyway, though this spotted shorthair looked nothing like fluffy white Darla, she immediately captured my heart.

It was clear she was a stray because she had no collar or tags and was quite malnourished. I suspect she at one point in the past had a home because when I bent down and clicked my tongue to coax her over, she immediately approached and rubbed her soft cheek against my knee. The moment I reached out to rub her head, she flipped onto her stomach and mewed, as if begging me to see how starving she was and fill her tummy. When I scooped her up from the street, I could feel her warm body vibrate with contented purrs; she was starved for human contact.

Sweety now lives like a pampered princess as Darla's long-distance little sister. Wait, I should say my Sweetie lived like a pampered princess.

We were on our regular walk yesterday afternoon, admiring the park and sunny Spring weather. Sweetie has a cute little plaid hooded harness with plush white angel wings attached that came as a set with a matching human-sized hoodie. I'm too old to be wearing clothes with angel wings sticking out, so I ripped those off. Still, our matching prints are thoroughly satisfying and make our walks that much more enjoyable. We were strolling along the park path when her predator instincts honed in on a helpless dandelion bobbing in the breeze. I allowed her to stop and play as I took out my phone to film the adorable encounter.

My focus was fully on Sweetie so I did not notice the person marching up to me until they were tarnishing the picture-perfect scene before my lens. My eyes moved from the slip-on sneakers and dark straight-legged jeans Sweetie was rubbing against on the screen directly to the actual person's petal-shaped eyes. First distracted by the left iris where the brown halfway down turned to green, I was delayed in noticing the person's clenched teeth until they were speaking through them.

"Is that your cat?" The fierce gaze, the gnashing lips, and the tense shoulders captured a fury too intense for me to feel anything but curious, considering the context.

I resisted the urge to point to our obvious matching outfits or the leash in my hand and simply replied, "Yes."

Their shoulders rose higher and eyes narrowed. "Oh really? Where did you find her?" With the question, their chin jutted out as if the words were a challenge.

I took in their visage again, head to toe. Their clothing was made of quality fabric and stitching, not exactly designer but definitely name-brand. Their slightly oversized t-shirt was tucked into the front of their jeans, giving a youthful but neat impression. Their height was only a bit shorter than mine, making them also relatively tall in this world. And the physique was slim, though I could make out muscle definition in their forearm as they clenched their fist.

My assessment was quick so they didn't wait long for me to answer, "Outside an apartment building."

The person scoffed as they turned their head away before shooting me an even fiercer look, the knuckles of the fists on their hips turning white. "Out— Y-You...." Seeming at a loss for words as boiling blood rushed to their face, they could only throw a pointed finger at mine and roar, "Shameless!"

At this point, their outward display of anger reached a level I found a threat, so I moved to pick Sweetie up, planning to question further only once I had backed away and felt my cat was safe from this possibly unhinged character. But I was caught by surprise when they noticed my slight movement and snatched up Sweetie before I could even finish bending down.

I suppose at this point my stance and expression mimicked theirs from earlier. I tightened by grip on the leash that was still in my hand, but it was barely a security when they could easily unclip the other end from Sweetie's harness and take off.

After they snatched up Sweetie, we stood at standstill for what felt like several seconds but was likely barely just one, calculating and preparing to be the first to draw our figurative guns. Even though I could probably overpower the cat thief, I did not want to get into a physical altercation which could potentially draw police and put me at risk of getting my fake ID scanned. But without wrestling my baby away, I wasn't left with other feasible options. Shouting for help might make them resort to drastic measures or bolting sooner. Deescalating with faux friendliness didn't cross my mind, though I don't think it would have worked, anyway, with how heated the person was.

In that split second of watching each other as we weighed our options, I was left with no solution but they decided on theirs. Within the next blink, the person and Sweetie were gone from my line of sight as something round and heavy barreled into my gut. Pain shot through my stomach and air out of my lungs as my body fell backwards. I reached out my hand to grab them as I was falling but it was too late. After head-butting the life out of me, they'd pivoted and took off towards the park exit, leash included.

Involuntary tears clouded my vision as I clutched my stomach, desperate to stand back up and go after them. Other parkgoers gasped and murmured while keeping their distance, unsure of the situation. Asking for help or calling the police to report the assault and catnapping—no, that isn't right, let's call it abduction—crossed my mind again but I could not risk exposing my ID's illegitimacy and thus dismantling my entire plan for returning to my own world. And I still hadn't figured out if someone was behind my world-crossing.

My vision was clearing and my breath was returning though the pain was still crippling. The murmurs of the bystanders surged prompting me to look up from where I was crouched on the ground and see the person returning.

I tried to speak, to ask why they'd do what they did, but my efforts were stopped by the person throwing a balled-up piece of paper at my face, calling me "human trash" and then marching off again. With furrowed brows, I uncrumpled the paper and then my face fell.

People around me tsked, narrating to others who didn't have good views.

"It's a missing cat flyer."

"I remember now, it was posted right on the light pole in front of the park."

"I saw it at the chocolate shop on Main too."

"Do you think di knew?"

"It's been there for over a month."

"I didn't recognize the cat. They all look the same."

"If di knew, di wouldn't shamelessly walk it in the park."

"The flyers have been around though. Intention aside, did di even check before treating it as dems own?"

"Violence is going too far, though. Did you notice them talking before di attacked the other one?"

"Ugh, it doesn't matter. At least we got a show."

"Should someone go check on dem?"

"Let's not get involved."

I learned a lot.

I admit I didn't go as far as I could have in seeing if the cat belonged to someone else in the city. Checking with my building's management was probably not enough as far as social standards go. But antagonizing and head-butting someone before even presenting what the issue is has to be just as unreasonable, right? If the other person had come with words, we could have worked things out over iced hot chocolate, apologies, compensation, and perhaps visitation days. After being very upset about it the rest of the day, I decided to call the number on the flyer.

The voice that answered was unfamiliar, but communicators are known to give voices some distortion.

I immediately introduced myself, "Hello, this is the person who'd been taking care of your cat for the past two—"

The beep of a call ending cut off my words and I gazed at my communicator's screen to see I had not imagined things and the call actually ended. I considered there were three possibilities: the call dropped, or I had accidentally ended it with my cheek, or I'd been hung up on. To determine which was reality, I immediately called back.

An automated voice cheerfully informed, "The caller cannot be reached." I'd been blocked.