I woke up to the sound of Pandora making pancakes in the kitchen, which is objectively the best possible way to wake up as a human being.
The smell drifted through the apartment like a legally binding contract forcing me out of bed. Before I could even sit up, Mr. Whiskers launched himself onto my chest with the full confidence of a creature that pays no rent and fears no consequences. He stared directly into my soul while purring like a small, judgmental engine.
By the time I made it into the kitchen, Pandora already had a full stack going. John Mercer stumbled in shortly after, looking like a man who had lost a fight with sleep and barely survived.
“Morning,” he mumbled, grabbing coffee like it was life support.
We ate in relative peace, which should have been my first warning that something was about to go horribly wrong.
At some point, Pandora said we needed groceries, and somehow that turned into us going to the farmer’s market instead, which felt like a trap but also involved snacks, so I agreed.
The market was packed—sunlight, fresh produce, people pretending they understand heirloom tomatoes. Pandora immediately got distracted by a jewelry stand, which gave John time to wander off toward a cheese sample situation that he approached with alarming focus.
That’s when I noticed her.
A woman across the walkway. Staring. Not casually. Not “oh, I think I recognize you” staring. This was targeted, deliberate, “I have already decided something about you” staring.
I nudged Pandora. “Hey… do you know her?”
Pandora glanced over, shrugged. “Nope.”
Cool. Great. Love that.
We kept browsing, but the woman didn’t stop watching. In fact, she got worse. Pacing. Muttering. Pointing slightly, like she was building a case in her head.
John returned at this exact moment, holding three different cheeses like he’d just completed a mission.
“You guys need to try this,” he said, completely unaware we were seconds away from a public incident.
And then it happened.
The woman stormed straight toward us, locked onto Pandora, and pointed like she was about to announce a crime on live television.
“You!” she shouted. “You stole my design!”
Everything stopped.
Pandora blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
“I KNOW IT WAS YOU,” the woman snapped, now fully committed. “You think you can just take my work and walk around like nothing happened?!”
A crowd started forming immediately, because humans are drawn to chaos like moths to a bad decision.
I stepped in, which was my second mistake of the day.
“Hey, I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”
She shoved past me.
Physically. Just… dismissed me.
At this point, a nearby flower display went down, petals everywhere, and John—still holding cheese—tried to intervene like a man who had no idea what role he was playing.
“Maybe we can all just calm down—”
“No!” she snapped.
And that’s when the moment happened.
Pandora, arms crossed, standing her ground. The woman inches from her face, pointing and shouting. Me off to the side, trying to process how grocery shopping turned into a legal dispute. And John, mid-chew, frozen in confusion.
And then—because this is my life—Mr. Whiskers’ head slowly emerged from my backpack.
I did not put him there.
He just… appeared. Like he had been waiting for his moment.
The crowd reacted immediately.
“Oh my god, there’s a cat.”
Now the focus shifted. Not fully. But enough.
Market security arrived right on cue, stepping in and pulling the woman back while she continued yelling about “intellectual theft” and “pattern replication.”
Pandora looked genuinely confused. Not defensive. Not guilty. Just… confused.
Eventually, the woman was escorted away, still shouting over her shoulder like she’d be back with evidence and possibly a lawyer.
The crowd dispersed, slightly disappointed the situation didn’t escalate further.
John finished his cheese.
Pandora exhaled. “Well… that was new.”
We stood there for a second, surrounded by fallen flowers and emotional debris.
And I’ll admit—it got in my head.
Because for a moment… just a moment… I thought:
What if she’s not completely wrong?
Not about the yelling. Obviously the yelling was unhinged. But the accusation?
On the walk home, I kept replaying it.
Pandora acted normal. Too normal? No, that’s insane. That’s not how normal works.
John walked behind us, still eating cheese like nothing in the world had changed.
Back at the apartment, everything reset. Couch. Warm light. Mr. Whiskers curled up like he hadn’t just smuggled himself into a public incident.
Pandora leaned against me like nothing happened.
And maybe nothing did.
But I’ll tell you this—
If I ever see that woman again…
I’m not going to the farmer’s market.
I’m ordering groceries online.