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A cinematic kitchen scene blending nightmare and waking reality. On the left, a warped, dreamlike vision: a monstrous sourdough jar looms in fog, Mum and Felix partially fused into dough, and Schmutz perched above, haunting and flour-dusted. On the right, the kitchen returns to morning calm—clean counters, soft light, and the sourdough jar quietly in place. Two versions of Franzi appear: one dream-bound in the shadows, the other fully real, seated in serene control. Her tail is curled. Her gaze is steady. She has bent the world to her will.

Epilogue – The Ghost of the Dough

April 5, 2025
The nightmare comes first. I am in the kitchen, but it’s not right. It’s stretched impossibly long, the walls curling like soft dough, and the floor sticky beneath my paws. The air is thick with a sour, yeasty fog. And at the
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This is pineconing

Franzi, a sleek black Oriental Shorthair cat, sits composed on a windowsill in a minimalist apartment while a chaotic glitter-covered Schmutz leaps mid-air in a trance. A demon-cat shadow looms behind Franzi, and a messy, handmade Mother’s Day card sits on the table.

This is pineconing!  Of Schmaltz, Betrayal, and Discounted Love

May 9, 2025
I woke up today with a thousand half-licked kibbles in my chest. Not because the heater clicked on late. Not because Schmutz had her tail in my water bowl again. No. It was Meaning—the emotion, not the concept—flicking its claws across my inner eyelid at 6:17 a.m. sharp. Because I found it. A letter. A Mother’s Day letter. Written in
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Creative Writing

The worn-out poster, its edges curling, suggesting a rule long enforced. The bold, stark '95', both a warning and a sentence. The cracked, stained wall, whispering of those who failed before.

95 Chapter 1:

February 20, 2025
The Bureau of Acceptable Care By the year 2042, humanity had arrived at a simple conclusion: people could not be trusted to care. Not