Typed on either the same dirty typewriter as above, or at least one possessing the same distinctive affliction regarding filled vowels. Pages were almost certainly missing, based on the holes from removed staples in the top left corners:
-I knew him all right. We had been pen pals for years, we would send each other newspaper clippings concerning dead opera singers and the like. It was all in good fun. When he finally came for a visit, I almost couldn’t believe it was him. I didn’t particularly care for him at that point.
-And why not?
-He wasn’t very personable, he didn’t seem grateful, I guess you would say. But I realized that I wouldn’t be very grateful either. This world has done him wrong.
-Are you referring to Mr. In The Hat’s status as an illegal alien?
-Excuse me, madam. I didn’t think this was to be a political debate. This Cat escaped a regime for which our government has had very little regard to this point. The man nearly died multiple times getting here! Isn’t this country built on strong principles, of theft, prevarication, and permanent vagrancy? Are we not all squatters? To quote Mr. Ott, who was probably quoting someone else: “who owns the land?”
-I think you’re straying from the question, Mr.—
-I’m not your mister anything. I know the question. You want to know about the night when Mr. Smart, another refugee seeking asylum in this grand parade of squatters, disappeared.-Allegedly murdered, Mr.—
-Don’t you mister me. Is this the first murder trial in American legal history in the absence of a body? Are we here because someone made a mess in the house? I’ve been accused of worse, by better.
-Right, right. I’ll tell you what you want to know. One of the things I learned early on about Mr. In The Hat was his deep sentimentality. He was quiet because he was learning how to be sentimental in another tongue. Does that make sense to the court? Another language of sentiment. A cat language! All right all right all right all right. We had thrown Cat a surprise party for the anniversary of his arrival in our great land of robbers and robbed. Dancing, drinks, the usual. He showed us some of the customs of his home, told us stories about the people he had left behind, it was lovely. But we got word that Pogee had gotten into one of his scrapes, and that’s why he wasn’t in attendance—
-Young Mr. Jung, of course. Always up to something questionable. But that’s why we keep him around. He might have been stuck in a bathtub full of coagulating gelatin, or locked into his performance cage against while rehearsing. It’s hard to say. All we know is that when he pushes the button on that bracelet, something is seriously amiss.
-Are you claiming that you and Mr. In The Hat were attending to Mr. Jung’s “scrape” at the time of the incident?
-I would never claim such a thing. I want no part of that, it would be a full-time job. Let the record reflect: my own life is a full-time job. I do not share the same sort of…magnanimity as Mr. In The Hat. But I did put him in a cab to get there, for which I have produced the receipt, and multiple others including Pogee, who was unconscious at the time, can confirm. Anyway, I saw the whole thing, Smart was never even injured. He just doesn’t appreciate sentiment, he walked away after the game was over!
-Mr. (redacted), I’ve heard enough of this. You have been leading us in circles for nearly two hours with your family history and an incredibly exhaustive list of all the people you have known in New York for the last decade, as well as your least favorite bars and former paramours. As a witness you are manifestly unreliable, and you seem to recall and forget things at a nearly equal rate. You have been no friend of the court’s in the past, and it would frankly shock me if you are not in this facility at some near date for some other decades-past charges. Between your friend Mr. Sparkles and your various other cohorts, you and yours have kept a legion of petty court officials employed. Your interest in the matter at hand is at best tendentious, and the more testimony you offer, the more it appears that it is you who has both initiated and potentially terminated the entire proceedings. Was it not you who called the police? Was it not you who suggested Smart, or whatever this man’s preferred moniker is, was murdered? Were you not the one who suggested that each of the witnesses offer their statements in song? And now you give us reason to believe that Mr. In The Hat was not present during the alleged violence, and neither was Mr. Smart? Counselors, there appears to be neither victim nor perpetrator in this whole business, and the only man in the courtroom who bears any culpability is the witness currently on the stand. Unless there is a strong and immediate objection, I’m going to declare a mistrial and attempt to justify why I should not hold this man in contempt of court.
To summarize what I understand of these scattered, entirely likely falsified “court” documents: Jack, possibly in cahoots with Cat In The Hat and Smart, orchestrated a massive disappearing act, or at the very least obstructed justice for a duration sufficient to throw the authorities off the trail of something or other. It appears he made himself the star witness, chief alibi, and, in the end, criminal perpetrator of a heist of time and resources the likes of which I am not aware. The thing of it is: the more I consider about this case, the clearer it is how little it has to do with Cat and his affairs in this country. I have every reason to believe the money obtained in the robberies was put to some use in conjunction with Smart’s absconding, but I find myself caring less and less. I come at this point full circle: it’s Cat’s own words either written or recorded by him, or directly recalled through his intimates, which move me most. I now take a breath before one last push to discover the heart of this feline man.