The stares were constant, even when nobody said a word. The hesitation in their voices was familiar. The slight distancing, the way conversations seemed to thin when you stepped closer, the way some coworkers looked at you like you were tolerable only because you were useful. You had crossed oceans and borders to start over somewhere new, but the truth was ugly and simple: dogs and cats still lived as if they belonged to opposite halves of the world, and you had chosen to live where you were least wanted.

By the time you reached the end of the street, your body felt heavy enough to sink into the rainwater pooled at the curb. Going home did not sound comforting. It sounded like returning to silence with a headache, to walls that would only make you think too much about the day. Your gaze drifted ahead, searching for anything that felt warmer than the night itself, and that was when you noticed the bar. Somewhere people went to shut their minds off for an hour. Somewhere tired workers went when they did not want to go straight home.

That sounded perfect.

When you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was how empty it was. Not completely empty, but close enough to feel like the bar was already slipping into its final hour. You approached the counter and sat on one of the stools, letting yourself settle with a long breath that seemed to carry the entire day out of your chest. For a moment, you simply existed there, letting the warmth of the room replace the cold that had settled over you outside.

And that was when you noticed the person beside you.

She was a white cat, but not just any cat, her face smooth and unmistakably rounded, her tiny yellow nose centered beneath a pair of half-lidded pale blue eyes that gave her an almost sleepy, detached expression. She was wearing a long brown coat that covered most of her body, the kind of coat that fell heavily and neatly, nearly to her knees, making it look as though she had deliberately chosen something practical and private rather than flashy. A small green pendant rested at her neck, the only bright detail besides the bow. In front of her sat a short glass with alcohol in it, only partly finished.

Something about her face felt absurdly familiar.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, not because you wanted to stare, but because your tired mind was struggling to connect the shape beside you to something buried in memory. The bow. The white fur. The blank, unreadable expression. The lack of a mouth. The face that had been printed on merchand—

"What can I get you?"

The realization did not have time to settle fully before the bartender approached.

The question was enough to break your concentration, and whatever train of thought had been pulling you toward the identity of the cat beside you slipped away under the weight of exhaustion. Your mind was tired enough to let the mystery go, at least for now. You did not need to think about famous faces, old shows, childhood characters, or the strange collision of a celebrity sitting quietly next to you in a nearly empty bar. Right then, all you wanted was to stop thinking altogether. So you ordered a drink strong enough to let your thoughts drift loose, something alcoholic, something simple, something that could help you set the day down for a while.

The bartender nodded and turned away, and the moment passed.

Only after that did Kitty speak.

"Long night?" she asked, her voice quiet and level, carrying none of the sweetness people usually expected from her image. It was calm, measured, and a little distant, but not cold in a cruel way. More like someone who had learned to keep her feelings folded neatly behind her expression and did not feel any need to unfold them for strangers.