My Dear Strangers,
The young girl’s indescribable cat remains lost. Despite my ordeals with the three-winged pigeon, the box in my stomach, and the dread cloud, I have continued to seek the creature each night in my subconscious, exploring the inverted forest where the cat was last seen.
Notwithstanding the suffocating dig at the start of each dream, I have grown to love the forest’s evergreen fragrance and outlandish beauty.
The upside-down pines are driven into the ground like spikes, while their great and twisted roots soak moisture from the air. The sky is rolling fog, thick enough for worms. Birds are in the mud, out of sight and darkly chirping.
Twice I have heard a distant mew, as indescribable as the cat itself. It is a fell and fearful sound of mesmerizing power. One would expect such a noise from something massive, like a god, or from something small but awesome, like a split plutonium atom.
I have tracked the cat’s prints in the impressionable fog. I have tunneled into the mud, following the panicked shrieks of underground birds. I have smelled the cat’s excreta, about which even the word “indescribable” is wholly insufficient.
I sense, with anxious hope, that I am closer every night.
But urgency is growing. Two readers have contacted me regarding the cat, which prior to its vanishing had apparently prowled the readers’ nightmares and dreams. They had not been aware of the cat until its disappearance into the inverted forest, at which time their dreamworlds were overrun with vermin.
The cat, it seems, hunted a species of figmental mouse that feeds upon the dreamers’ brightest, sweetest thoughts. At first the notion struck me as creepily adorable, but further research revealed that the joy-nibbling mice—called nachtkauers in the scant references I’ve found—steadily devour the afflicted dreamer’s psyche.
Tales of insomnia, insanity, and suicide abound. I fear the mice will breed unchecked.
The cat must be found.