Moe's Journals (Part 1 for 2024, Part 2 coming in late 2025)
April 2000
As I stepped off the Greyhound bus at 3 am in Banff, the eerie silence enveloped me like a shroud, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. The dimly lit station, once a bustling hub, now stood deserted and closed, its shady reputation seemingly a myth on this chilly April morning. I stretched my feline body, arching my back and extending my claws, feeling the familiar thrill of adventure coursing through my veins.
The only other passengers, two Australian backpackers, had vanished into the night, leaving me with my suitcase, wet fur, and backpack. I was grateful for the quiet moment to gather my thoughts. With no phone in sight, I sharpened my claws and trudged to the nearby Chevron, searching for change and a way to call for help.
As I pushed open the creaky door, a bell above it jingled in protest, and I stepped into the warm glow of the store. The cashier, a gruff but kind-hearted man with a thick beard and a battered truckers' hat, looked up from behind the counter, his eyes narrowing as he took in my bedraggled appearance.
"You okay, buddy?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly. "I see you are wandering around by yourself. It's early to be out. The sun is about to come up."
I nodded, trying to shake off the chill of the night air. "Just looking for some change and a way to call someone," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
The cashier nodded sympathetically, his expression softening. "Well, I can give you some change, but be careful out there, okay? The bears around here ain't no joke."
I smiled, knowing the drill. As an experienced hiker familiar with the woods of Oregon and California, I knew the risks of venturing into bear country. But I also knew that the chances of running into a grizzly in the dead of night were slim to none.
"I think I can handle it," I said, studying the town map spread out on the counter. "It's only four miles to the resort. I can walk there easily."
The cashier warned me again, his expression dead serious. "Don't go near the forest, buddy. They can get you at the edge. Don't go in the forest. They'll strip your fur off and then some."
I chuckled, a low, throaty sound. I'd spent countless hours in national parks and forests along the West Coast, and I knew the drill. Curious, I decided to spend more time in the forest. Who knows what was there, as a chilly haze of mist hung low over the lodgepole pines?
As I walked back to the resort, cars whizzed by, and cyclists pedaled past, but I was not deterred. Just as I was about to give up, a kind stranger stopped his car and offered me a ride to the resort. Uncertain of what to do, I hesitantly accepted his offer after I first refused it.
"I'm not going to make it," I admitted, grateful for the reprieve. "Maybe I should reconsider and accept your offer. Not that many cars have gone by."
The side door opened and I slid in. He loaded my items into the trunk and restarted the engine. The car took off from the side of the road, did a U-turn, and headed back up the mountain. The stranger smiled and introduced himself as Jack, a local who had lived in Banff all his life. We chatted about the town, and he shared some stories about the forest and its secrets.
As we pulled up to the Douglas Fir Resort, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Jack dropped me off at the lobby, and I thanked him for the ride. He smiled and nodded, clearly not wanting anything in return. I was grateful for such kindness, which was rare to see.
"Lots of people come and go here. Hope you enjoy your stay. I'm glad I could help," he said with a smile. "You take care now, and watch out for those bears!"
I grinned, feeling a sense of belonging in this new town. As I settled into the lobby, waiting for the housekeeping manager to arrive, I reflected on my journey and the kind stranger who had given me a ride. I sat in a leather chair and counted away the minutes, sometimes sleeping, other times reading.
The cashier's warnings echoed in my mind, but I was relieved to have made it to the resort safely. I spent the next five hours waiting, reflecting on my journey and the kind people I had met. Time crept by slowly until finally, it was eight o'clock.
Eventually, the housekeeping manager arrived, and I was thrilled to have found a new adventure in this beautiful mountain town. We discussed my position and housing. She had too many people now. The supervisor had overhired. A suggestion was made that I work a combined set of other roles, helping out only occasionally in the laundry. I was fine with this. I was up here for a few months of respite and research. The job was not the most important aspect of my adventure.
As I settled into my new role as a sales representative, greeting customers and posing in the gift shop window, I couldn't help but think about the time machine back on Mars. Had I secured it properly? Would the thick layers of tarp, tape, and bubble wrap protect it? I was very concerned and tried not to think about it as I wrote in my journal in the evenings.
Online, I learned that some lyrics I had reinterpreted in the vein of sixties pop music had won a literary award. I was happy, but it was a sign of progress, unrelated to my true literary ambitions. Coming to Banff was an attempt to find some quiet, some meaning in the chaos around me.
As I looked over my journal entries, I wondered how I would describe my incursion into Mars and the time machine. I was still figuring out human life and existence. Reports were due back every two weeks. My journey had been funded in exchange for some spy reports. It was a chance of a lifetime. I secretly hoped to settle on Earth, or at least extend my mission, before returning to the Sagittarius constellation, where the WOW signal came from years before. I wanted to know them, not have them know us.
It was all in secret. I closed my journal, stared at the typewriter, and thought of my report. I outlined it on paper and put it aside. I would file it tonight, and send an email to my contacts in code. They were impossible to reach. I could not find a payphone and was banned from owning a cell phone. I wondered if I could get away with a disposable prepaid phone from one of those Best Buy kiosks at the train station. Who knew...
As I settled into my new role as a sales representative, I found myself enjoying the quiet moments in the gift shop, watching the sun rise over the mountains outside the window. The wind would rustle the leaves of the lodgepole pines, and I'd feel a pang of homesickness for the forests of Oregon and California. But I was determined to make the most of my time in Banff.
One afternoon, as I was arranging a display of local handicrafts, a group of hikers walked into the shop, their gear dusty from a day on the trails. One of them, a young woman with a bright smile, approached me and asked about the best trails in the area. I enthusiastically recommended the Johnston Canyon hike, having done it myself a few days prior. She thanked me and introduced herself as Sarah, and we chatted for a bit about the beauty of the Rockies.
As the day went on, I found myself thinking about Sarah and our conversation. It was moments like those that made me forget, if only for a little while, about my true nature and my mission. I felt a sense of belonging, of being part of this human world. But as the sun began to set, I knew I had to focus on my report. I couldn't let my feelings get in the way of my duty.
I made my way back to my quarters, a small cabin on the outskirts of the resort, and sat down at my typewriter. I began to outline my report, detailing my observations of the locals and the town. But as I wrote, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was living a lie. Who was I to report on these humans, to observe and analyze them like lab specimens? And yet, I had a job to do.
As I finished my report and encoded it in the agreed-upon format, I felt a pang of guilt. Was it worth it, I wondered, to deceive these humans, to live among them and betray their trust? I pushed the thought aside, knowing that my mission was too important to be swayed by sentimental doubts.
I sent the report via email, using a secure channel to reach my contacts. And as I waited for a response, I couldn't help but think about Sarah and the other humans I'd met in Banff. Were they just pawns in a game much larger than any of us could imagine? Or were they the keys to unlocking a deeper understanding of this strange, complex universe?
The night wore on, and I sat in the darkness, my thoughts swirling like the mist that hung low over the lodgepole pines. As the night wore on, I sat in the darkness, my thoughts swirling like the mist that hung low over the lodgepole pines.
I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was torn between two worlds. On one hand, I had my mission, my duty to report back to my contacts and fulfill my purpose. On the other hand, I had this strange, growing connection to the humans around me. It was as if I was being pulled in two opposite directions, and I didn't know which way to turn. -I thought about Sarah, the young hiker who had come into the shop. She had seemed so carefree, so full of life.
What would she think if she knew the truth about me? Would she be horrified, or would she see something in me that I couldn't see myself? I pushed the thoughts aside, knowing that I couldn't afford to get too close to anyone.
As I sat there, trying to clear my mind, I couldn't help but wonder about the humans I had met in Banff. There was Jack, the kind stranger who had given me a ride to the resort. And the cashier at the Chevron, with his gruff demeanor and his warnings about the bears. What were their stories, I wondered? What secrets did they hold?
Still, as 1the hours crept by, I found myself thinking about the time machine, back on Mars. Had I really secured it properly? Was it still safe, waiting for me to return? I pushed the thoughts aside, knowing that I couldn't afford to worry about it now. I had to focus on my mission, on gathering as much information as I could about the humans and their world.
As I lay in bed, trying to sleep, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was caught in a web of deception. I was living a lie, pretending to be something I wasn't. And yet, what choice did I have? This was my mission, my duty. I had to see it through, no matter what the cost.
The next morning, I woke up feeling restless. I knew I had to get out, to clear my head and focus on my mission. I packed a small bag and set out into the woods, leaving the resort behind. The mist was still hanging low over the trees, casting an ethereal glow over the forest. I breathed deeply, feeling the cool air fill my lungs, and began to walk.
As I walked, the trees grew taller and the mist grew thicker. I felt like I was walking through a dream, a world that was both familiar and strange. I followed a narrow trail, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the forest. And then, suddenly, I heard a rustling in the underbrush.
I froze, my heart pounding. What was it? A bear, perhaps? Or something else entirely? I waited, my senses on high alert, as the rustling grew louder. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure emerge from the trees.
It was Sarah, the young hiker from the gift shop. She was smiling, her eyes shining with excitement. "I saw you walking and thought I'd follow," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been wanting to explore these woods for weeks."
I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should I trust her, or keep my distance? But as I looked into her eyes, I saw something there that gave me pause. It was a spark of curiosity, a sense of adventure that I couldn't resist.
"Let's go," I said, smiling back at her. "Let's explore this forest together. I want to see the birch trees as they blossom."
_________
I headed out in the morning, and the fighting sky caught my attention. Winter seemed to creep into summer, a peculiar juxtaposition that left me uncertain about the season. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. I had no shift today, as I was on my two days off from my advertising position at the store. It was part-time modeling, and I loved the freedom that came with it.
As I descended Tunnel Mountain Road towards the Banff townsite, I watched the bus go by without stopping. I didn't mind; I preferred walking anyway. The exercise would do me good, and I could take in the breathtaking views of the surrounding hills and stairs. I thought about a hike that would take me to the top of Tunnel Mountain, where I could gaze out at the stunning vistas.
Or I'll indulge in some shopping instead. Banff Avenue was always bustling with tourists and locals alike, and I loved browsing through the eclectic mix of shops and cafes. I could grab a coffee at Mel's, or browse through the racks at the local thrift store. The choices were endless, and I felt a sense of excitement wash over me as I pondered the possibilities.
As I strolled through the townsite, I noticed a group of locals gathered outside the old Canada Pacific Railway station. They were chatting and laughing, and I wondered what was going on. Was it some sort of event or festival? My curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered over to join the crowd.
"Hey, what's happening?" I asked one of the locals, a guff-looking man with a bushy beard. "Are you headed up to the campsite?"
"I got to go to work somewhere else. Can't stay at the hostel anymore. Just waiting for the Rocky Mountaineer to arrive," he replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "It's a special edition train, and we're expecting some VIPs on board."
We chatted for a few minutes, and I headed on the way. I decided on a light hike to check out the dying blossoms, and snow on top of the distant hills. I took a few parabolic shots for my scrapbook, curious where I would be a black-and-white production artist of quality for my photos. They were too nice to send to Wal-Mart.
I watched as the train chugged into the station, spewing out passengers in designer coats and crisp suits. The stranger disappeared. I didn't see where he went. They looked out of place in this rugged mountain town, but I was intrigued nonetheless. Who were these VIPs, and what brought them to Banff? I was uncertain. The next day, through General Post, an invitation to the Banff Center for the Arts Gala had arrived.
_______________
As I continued down Tunnel Mountain Road, the wind picked up. The air was refreshing and slapped my face. I looked down Tunnel Mountain Road. The air ran through my hair and was fresh, crisp, and cold. I continued down Tunnel Mountain Road, the distant rumble of the departing bus fading into the background.
I savored the solitude, the rhythmic thud of my boots against the pavement a comforting counterpoint to the silence. The exercise invigorated me, each step a reminder of the strength I was cultivating within myself. I wondered what happened to him, not that I was concerned. Banff struck as the kind of town woven with lies into a mysterious tapestry of creation without design. Strange people seemed to come and go here, perhaps, including myself. My motivations were sacrosanct, I determined. I was a spy, not an instigator. The others worried me.
Then, I saw him. A lone figure, hunched against the wind, perched on a weathered rock overlooking the valley. Curiosity piqued, I approached, a friendly greeting on my lips. I had seen him before; he felt familiar to me. I thought of outstretching a paw but hesitated. So I raised my voice and nodded to him.
"Hello," I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the stillness. "Nice to see you again. Where did you go? Did you board the train?".
He startled, his head snapping up. "Oh, hello," he replied, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Didn't see you there. No, I was just getting a parcel."
I wondered about the parcel. He now carried a big bag. Maybe he put the parcel in there, I wondered. Something was off about him like he was carrying around a dark secret. Curiosity got the better of me and we talked for a while.
After we exchanged a few pleasantries, the conversation was brief and awkward. He spoke of the breathtaking views, of the peace he found in the mountains. I nodded, sharing my appreciation for the natural beauty that surrounded us.
Then, as abruptly as he appeared, he was gone. I blinked, momentarily confused. He had vanished, seemingly swallowed by the dense forest that skirted the mountainside. A shiver ran down my spine. Had I imagined him? Had he simply been a figment of my overactive imagination?
Intrigued by the mysterious stranger, I decided to embark on a short hike, the trail leading deeper into the woods. The forest canopy offered a welcome respite from the wind, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. I wondered about the man, his sudden disappearance adding a layer of intrigue to the already enchanting scenery.
As I navigated the winding trail, a peculiar sense of unease began to settle over me. It wasn't fear, exactly, but a strange disquiet, a feeling of being watched. I glanced around but saw nothing. The forest remained eerily silent.
Then, some created let out a jolt. I was startled for a few minutes. I headed back home to rest and have a glass of water. I thought of the letter and card on the counter. I had not been here long and wasn't known to too many people. It was an arrangement? An unexpected invitation arrived. A sleek, black envelope lay nestled amongst the fallen leaves, addressed to me in elegant script. Inside, a single sheet of thick, ivory paper detailed an invitation to a party at the Banff Center. Perhaps I was supposed to attend for research purposes.
Bewildered, I stared at the invitation. I had never been to a party at the Bank Center, nor had I ever received an invitation from anyone associated with it. Who had sent it? And why me? I thought I should go down in the evening and put in a phone call at the pay phone. Oddly, it was on the side of a hiking hill in the middle of nowhere. None of the four gas stations in town had pay phones on their premises.
The questions swirled in my mind, a perplexing puzzle with no immediate answers. The encounter with the stranger, the unsettling feeling of being watched, and now this bizarre invitation – the day was taking on a decidedly surreal turn. Boring as it was, I savored this little mystery.
At home, I fell asleep with the television on for several hours. I should have been writing or doing research. I needed core samples from the forest to send off. As I stood there, staring at the invitation, my mind racing with questions, I couldn't shake off the feeling that the stranger and this mysterious party were connected. I decided to do some digging, starting with the pay phone on the hiking hill.
Later on, I went out about the phone call. I made my way to the phone, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy as I climbed the hill. The phone booth was old and worn, but it looked like it still worked. I dialed the number on the invitation, and after a few rings, a smooth, male voice answered.
"Good evening. You're responding to the invitation, I presume?" he said. "I am so glad you called. Your authority gave me the chance to speak to you. It is a secured line."
"Oh, I was not told about that. I will have to ask about that. That is fine, I guess. Let's keep it short. Yes, I am the cat, who is this?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite my curiosity.
"My name is not important. What's important is that you're interested in attending the party. You'll need to come alone, and dress...appropriately," the voice said. "I prefer black and white. Show up on Tuesday at 9 pm, outside the tavern."
"That is interesting. I was curious about this party. Now I know why. What do you mean by appropriately?" I pressed, but the line had already gone dead.
I hung up the phone, feeling a shiver run down my spine. This was getting weirder by the minute. But I couldn't resist the urge to uncover more about this mysterious party and the stranger who seemed to be connected to it. That Tuesday evening, I dressed in my best attire and made my way to the Banff Center after a mysterious cab pickup at nine outside the tavern. The building loomed before me, its grandeur and beauty almost intimidating. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The party was in full swing, with people mingling and laughing as they sipped their drinks. I scanned the room, searching for the stranger, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, I saw a figure waiting for me by the bar – a woman with piercing green eyes and raven-black hair.
"You must be our guest of honor," she said, her voice husky and confident. "I'm Sophia. Welcome to our little gathering."
As she handed me a drink, I felt a sense of unease. Something wasn't right here. But I played along, trying to gather more information about the party and its attendees. As the night wore on, I found myself drawn into a web of secrets and lies, where nothing was as it seemed. The stranger reappeared, his eyes locking onto mine as he whispered, "You shouldn't have come here."
And with that, the lights flickered, and the room fell silent. I was left standing there, surrounded by strangers, with more questions than answers. In the mirror, I took a look at myself. I nearly dissociated from the drink as the Fleetwood Mac album played on. Everything felt swirling. I could barely move. I focused on my reflection for a minute.
Staring back at me, the cat, impeccably groomed in his black and white suit, sipped his drink. The air in the elegant hall buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I scanned the room, my gaze lingering on the stranger who stood by the window, a solitary figure against the vibrant backdrop of the mountain scenery.
I strove to understand the importance of his arrival but could not. I had the pieces of the puzzle, but not the picture of what I was supposed to see. Somehow, I suspected, I was supposed to figure it out without guidance. The system here was offering clues. I had heard about moles being put in place back as far as fifty years prior, but that was a rumor never substantiated back on Esmos.
The stranger, in his own impeccably tailored attire, seemed to be observing the scene with a detached amusement. Our eyes met briefly, a spark of recognition passing between them. I cat felt a shiver crawl down my spine. This wasn't a chance encounter. I was aware of the ground shifting beneath me, but what for? I worried a little about my book and my spy project. I felt the softness of my suit and meowed softly to myself. It was like silk.
I took another sip of his drink, the icy liquid doing little to quell the rising unease within me. The drink was cold and refreshing. It was a pretty pink and tasted like a Cosmopolitan. I felt sophisticated and out of place. Putting my feelings aside, I wondered about the stranger.
Why was he here? What did the stranger want? And most importantly, what was the meaning behind the "secret phone call" that had been hinted at? I wondered as he spoke in hieroglyphics to me. With the noise, I could barely make him out. Eventually, I saw no point and moved to another part of the room. I thought I should leave early before finding out what the Guest of Honor meant. Perhaps it was more than a ceremonial title.
The music swelled, drawing the people into the swirling vortex of the party. The stranger moved through the crowd, his senses alert, his mind racing. I needed to find out more. I needed to understand the game that was being played. Internally, I felt a struggle and wondered what was happening. I couldn't read the energy of the room. In desperation, I wanted to leave. My curiosity fought against reason. This was not a safe place to be, and it was far from the townsite. I would have to request a cab unless I wanted to take my chances on the side of a dirt road hitching a ride at night in the darkness.
As the night deepened, I felt a sense of dread creeping over him. The stranger remained a constant presence, a silent observer in the shadows. The "secret phone call" never came, but I knew it was imminent. I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, and the stakes, I realized with a growing sense of fear, were higher than I ever could have imagined. The stranger came up to me and nodded. He suggested I follow him. I went out on the deck. Then I saw an escape.
May 2000
The daytime sky lightened up. I felt a sense of release. A family member sent a photo and I stared at it. It had crossed space and time, owing to my advanced technology and aura. I was waiting for a phone call, having installed a landline with permission recently. The "secret phone calls" continued, and I had not seen the stranger in a while. I suspected it was a test.
I still felt like I was in line at the cashier's desk at Home Depot. The feeling came over me when I went to buy some supplies at the local hardware store. My fur ruffled at the sight of an attractive young Persian walking around. I wanted to dig my claws into her. She was uninterested, clearly thinking she could do better. My mind drifted back to the party and I remembered.
As I stood on the deck, the stranger's nod seemed to be the only signal I needed. I followed him down the stairs, my heart racing with anticipation. We walked in silence, the only sound being the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow us whole, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was being pulled into a game I didn't understand.
We reached the bottom of the hill, and I spotted a gleaming motorcycle waiting by the roadside. The stranger gestured for me to get on, and I hesitated for a moment before swinging my leg over the seat. He revved the engine, and we sped off into the night, the wind whipping my face as we descended the winding roads.
I couldn't help but think of the party last month, where I'd seen a similar figure lingering in the shadows. Was this the same person? I couldn't be sure, but the coincidence was unsettling. The cashier was taking a long time, owing to an itinerant customer who made endless demands for television accessories.
I could feel the wind in my face as I closed my eyes to alleviate the boredom. As we rode, the city lights gave way to darkness, and I felt a sense of freedom I'd never experienced before. The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating, and for a moment, I forgot about the "secret phone calls" and the feeling of being watched. The feeling was always there. Only that ride and writing alleviated the feeling.
I remember the moment the motorcycle slowed and I felt alive. But as we finally came to a stop, the stranger turned to me and said, "The game is far from over." His eyes glinted in the moonlight, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I hadn't seen him since, but he had called me twice. Who was he working for? A mole? Was he sent to spy on me? Was he human or masquerading as a human? I suppose he could be a shapeshifter.
The cashier called me. I woke up fast and headed to the counter. I reminded myself: fast-forward to May 2000 and stop thinking about it. I felt anxious again, and I was still trying to make sense of that night. The "secret phone calls" continued, always cryptic and always leaving me with more questions than answers. I suspected they were connected to the stranger, but how or why, I had no idea. Some of them were from him, and others alluded to him. I had been making fewer reports and receiving more cryptic instructions about the project.
After I bought my supplies, I took a cab home. Walking and hiking were beginning to bore me. Two months out in the forest was hard on a person. I began to understand the routine of foreigners packing up and heading home, a phenomenon amongst the workers. I had another month of my contract and the possibility of an extension. I wanted a different job, as sales and modeling bored me. Since I was on a month-by-month rental, I decided to apply at a couple of restaurants as a host and busser. The tips and free meals would help out.
As I stared at the photo my family member had sent, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The image seemed to bridge the gap between two different worlds, and I wondered if I was stuck in some kind of limbo. Later that day, I found myself at the local hardware store, browsing through the aisles as I searched for some supplies. That's when I spotted her – the beautiful Persian cat, her fur a mesmerizing swirl of gray and white. She seemed completely uninterested in me, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Who was I to her, anyway? Just another customer trying to get her attention?
As I watched her saunter away, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was still trapped in that game, with the stranger's enigmatic presence lurking in the shadows, waiting for his next move. I had test samples to get that afternoon, so I forgot the matter and headed out. I took the box with me.
As I stepped off the Greyhound bus at 3 am in Canmore, the eerie silence enveloped me like a shroud, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. I stretched my feline body, arching my back and extending my claws, feeling the familiar thrill of adventure coursing through my veins. I was there for the pickup.
After a kind stranger gave me a ride from the Douglas Fir Resort, I settled into the lobby, waiting for the driver to arrive. I reflected on my journey and the kind people I had met, wondering about the time machine back on Mars and whether I had secured it properly. It had passed the monthly inspection, but I had a concern about water leakage.
As I began my new role as a kitchen assistant, I couldn't help but think about the extent of my true literary ambitions and the reports I was supposed to file every two weeks that had dwindled to monthly observations. I was a spy, not an instigator, and I had to be careful not to reveal my true identity. I was also a spy who worried about planted moles and strangers.
That morning, I saw a familiar figure - the lone stranger, hunched against the wind, perched on a weathered rock overlooking the valley. Curiosity piqued, I approached him, exchanging pleasantries, but he vanished abruptly, leaving me with more questions than answers. This was becoming a routine.
Later, I received an invitation to a cocktail party at Melissa's Mistake, and my curiosity got the better of me. I attended the party, dressed in my best attire, and was drawn into a web of secrets and lies. The stranger reappeared, whispering "You shouldn't have come here" before the lights flickered and the room fell silent. But nothing happened.
I was served a bottle of wine and delicious steak in brown butter sauce with a side of creamed kale and mashed potatoes with cream and garlic. The meal was satisfying real comfort food. The bill was comped without explanation. Melissa hinted she wanted a good review online and in the paper, so I wrote my best and sent two different versions to a local magazine and a website. Then I sent an early, simple version of the paper. Was that my assignment? I wondered how Melissa was connected.
I was left with more questions than answers, wondering about the importance of the stranger's arrival and the meaning behind the "secret phone call" that had been hinted at. I felt like I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, and the stakes were higher than I ever could have imagined.
As I stood on the deck, the stranger's nod seemed to be the only signal I needed in my mind. I lay down and went to sleep. In my dreams, I followed him down the stairs, my heart racing with anticipation. We walked in silence, the only sound being the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow us whole, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was being pulled into a game I didn't understand.
Fast-forward to June 2000, and I was still trying to make sense of that night. The "secret phone calls" continued, always cryptic and always leaving me with more questions than answers. I suspected they were connected to the stranger, but how or why, I had no idea. Some of them were from him, and others alluded to him.
After applying to a couple of restaurants as a host and busser, I began to feel uneasy, wondering if I was stuck in some kind of limbo. The image of the beautiful Persian cat I saw at the local hardware store seemed to bridge the gap between two different worlds, and I felt trapped in that game, with the stranger's enigmatic presence lurking in the shadows, waiting for his next move.
The Banff air, usually crisp and invigorating, felt thick with unease. I, Moe the Siamese cat, meticulously groomed my whiskers, the reflection in the antique mirror a stark contrast to the turmoil within. I'd met this stranger at the party, a whirlwind of charisma and unsettling intensity. Now, an invitation to "cocktails at the tavern" hung heavy in the air, a siren song laced with danger.
The phone call had been a jolt. "Dress sharp, Moe," the stranger's voice, a silken caress, had purred down the line. "Think... understated elegance. You know, the kind that screams 'I'm not trying too hard, but I could'."
Now, a creature of habit, usually favored my trusty denim jacket and worn-in boots. "Understated elegance" was a foreign language. I paced, the antique Persian rug a blur beneath my paws. Memories of the party flashed through my mind: the stranger's unsettlingly keen observations, their heated debate about the nature of reality, and the stranger's unsettlingly casual mention of "the plan."
The escape from the party had been a blur. A stolen motorcycle, the wind whipping through my fur, the thrill of the chase a poor substitute for the gnawing fear that had gripped me. I'd been carrying samples, precious vials containing the essence of my life's work – years of research, of painstakingly collecting and analyzing the subtle vibrations of the universe.
What did the stranger want with me? What was this "plan"? Was it a trap? A ploy to steal my samples? Or something far more insidious, something that threatened to unravel the very fabric of his existence? I was worried yet fascinated by what the outcome would be. I wondered about the moles.
Doubt gnawed at me. Was I being paranoid? Was this just a social call, an invitation to unwind after the hectic party? But the stranger's insistence on my attire, the unsettling undercurrent in our conversation, screamed otherwise.
I glanced at the vials, nestled safely in a hidden compartment beneath my bed. My reflection in the mirror seemed to mock me – a creature of logic and reason, now teetering on the brink of chaos. I had to decide. Risk everything, confront the unknown, or retreat into the safety of his solitude, forever haunted by the "what ifs."
The tavern loomed, a dark silhouette against the twilight sky. I hesitated, my paws trembling. I took a deep breath, the scent of pine needles filling my nostrils. This was it. No turning back now. I straightened my back, adjusted my imaginary tie, and stepped into the shadows, the fate of the world hanging in the balance.
I smoothed down his velvet tuxedo with a disdainful flick of his tail. The damn contraption always felt a bit too tight around my midsection, but Eulalia insisted. "You must make a good impression, Moe," she'd chirped, her voice a melodious trill. "These humans are quite… impressionable."
Eulalia, bless her fluffy heart, was convinced that their little time machine tinkering shop in the back alleys of Valve could use some social lubrication. So, here I was, the most dapper feline this side of the temporal anomaly, attending a human "cocktail party."
The air in the grand ballroom was thick with the scent of unfamiliar flora and the murmur of strange, guttural sounds. Humans, creatures of habit, milled about, their awkward attempts at socializing a constant source of amusement for me. I perched on a velvet chaise longue, observing the scene with a critical eye.
A flash of movement caught my attention. A woman, tall and elegant, with eyes the color of amethyst, stood apart from the throng, a bemused expression gracing her lips. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the spectacle with a detached amusement. I was kind of interested, but not persuaded. The memory of the Persian cat without a name haunted me.
I was intrigued and decided to investigate. I sauntered towards her, my tail held high. "Greetings, human," I purred, his voice a low rumble. "You seem to be enjoying the… spectacle."
The woman turned, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of a tuxedo-clad cat. "Indeed," she replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Quite the… assemblage."
"Humans," I remarked, "are a curious breed, wouldn't you say?"
The woman chuckled, a melodious sound that sent shivers down Moe's spine. "Indeed they are. Full of contradictions."
"Tell me," I inquired, "what brings you to this… gathering?"
"Curiosity," she admitted. "And a touch of boredom. I was sent tickets at the last minute by a friend. You know him?"
"No, I don't think so. Interesting the tickets arrived so suddenly. I experienced the same thing. Your reaction is understandable," I sympathized. "Boredom is a universal affliction, even across timelines."
"I don't know what you mean. That's something," The woman raised an eyebrow. "Timelines? What do you mean, exactly?"
I hesitated, then decided to indulge her. "A minor… hobby," I explained vaguely. "Time travel. You know, the usual."
The woman, to my surprise, didn't bat an eye. "Fascinating. I've always been intrigued by the concept of… temporal displacement."
"It has its… drawbacks," I admitted. "One tends to encounter a rather large number of misplaced socks."
The woman laughed, a genuine, joyous sound. "Misplaced socks," she repeated, shaking her head. "A universal constant, it seems."
And as our gazes met, a comradery ignited. I, the time-traveling feline, found himself inexplicably drawn to this enigmatic woman. I had a feeling this was just the beginning of an exam11111111111111 the night wore on, I found myself becoming increasingly entranced by the woman's wit and charm. We exchanged stories, laughed together, and even shared a few misadventures in the realm of time travel. I couldn't help but feel a connection to her, a sense that we were kindred spirits, bound together by our shared experiences in the timestream.
But as the hours ticked by, I began to realize that our conversation was being watched, that we were being surrounded by an intricate web of intrigue and deception. I caught glimpses of the stranger, lurking in the shadows, his eyes fixed on us with an intensity that made my fur stand on end.
The woman, too, seemed to sense the danger, her eyes darting nervously about the room as we spoke. And yet, she refused to back down, her determination to uncover the truth driving her forward, even in the face of danger.
As the night wore on, I knew that I had to make a choice: to join forces with this mysterious woman or to flee into the safety of the timestream. But as I looked into her eyes, I knew that there was no turning back. We were in this together, now, and I could only hope that our combined strength would be enough to see us through the treacherous landscape ahead.
"Let's get out of here," I whispered, my ears perked up, my senses on high alert. "We need to talk, and we need to be alone."
The woman nodded, her eyes flashing with determination. Together, we made our way through the crowds, our pace quickening as we neared the exit. We didn't look back, didn't dare to, as we burst out into the cool night air, our hearts pounding in unison.
We hailed a taxi, and I gave the driver a random address, my mind racing with possibilities. As we sped through the city streets, I turned to the woman, my eyes locking onto hers.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice low and urgent. "What do you know about the stranger, and what do you want from me?"
The woman's eyes gleamed in the dim light of the taxi, her smile a fleeting glimpse of mischief. I watched as her eyes danced in the darkness. I was wondering what information I would get, and what the moles had to do with it.
"My name is Sophia," she said, her voice husky and confident. "And I'm here to help you uncover the truth about the timestream- and the secrets that lie within."
I raised an eyebrow, my whiskers twitching with intrigue. I had a feeling that I was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, and I was ready to see it through, no matter the cost. What an extraordinary adventure. She would be useful.
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