Chapter 21: The Jurisprudence of the Cardboard Box
The first formal trade mission to the Realm of Felis Paradoxa did not involve a ship or a portal. Instead, it involved the delegation sitting inside a very large, very ordinary cardboard box that had been placed in the center of the Origami Bridge.
"I feel 100% ridiculous," Architect Ao Bing muttered, his knees tucked against his chin. His trench coat—which he had kept "for the pockets"—was getting wrinkled. "Is there a scientific reason the High Commissioner of the Bureau is currently crouched in a shipping container labeled FRAGILE?"
"It's the only way to ensure 100% arrival," Ne Job explained, checking the seal on his silver stapler. "In the feline dimension, a closed door is a suggestion, but a cardboard box is an irresistible gravitational well. If we sit here long enough, we will simply be there."
"And the 7.5% sparkle?" The Muse asked, shaking a jar of neon-pink glitter.
"Essential for trade," Ne Job replied.
Suddenly, the box tipped. There was a sound of massive claws dragging across the cardboard, a low-frequency purr that rattled Ne Job's teeth, and then—light.
The Court of Supreme Indifference
The side of the box was torn away by Barnaby, the cat-butler from Chapter 12. He was wearing a fresh monocle and a judicial wig made entirely of white yarn.
"Welcome," Barnaby purred, bowing low. "You have arrived just in time for the 7.5% morning session of the High Court of Arbitrary Decisions. The Arch-Feline is currently presiding over a case of Gravity vs. The Glass on the Edge of the Table."
The delegation stepped out into a world that had grown even more chaotic since their last visit. The scratching-post trees were now draped in silk banners, and thousands of cats were gathered in a natural amphitheater made of giant, plush cushions.
At the center, the Arch-Feline sat behind a massive mahogany desk. Opposite him stood a very nervous-looking golden retriever in a sweater vest.
"The evidence is clear," the Arch-Feline announced, yawning. "The glass was 100% asking for it. It was standing there, being all... vertical. It defied the 7.5% natural law of 'Everything Should Be on the Floor.' I find the glass guilty. Sentence is death by shattering."
The crowd of cats erupted in a wave of rhythmic kneading.
The Trade Negotiation
"Your Majesty," Ne Job said, stepping forward and adjusting his High Commissioner hat, which had gathered a bit of box-lint. "We are here to finalize the trade agreement. We bring the 100% structured stability of the Bureau's new 'Infinite Addendum' in exchange for your 7.5% Pure Chaos."
The Arch-Feline looked at Ne Job, his golden eyes narrowing. "Ah, the Accountant. You fixed our Laser Pointer, yes. But since then, my people have become... litigious. They realized that if they have rules, they can have the fun of breaking them. We have created a Supreme Court to decide which rules are the most satisfying to ignore."
"We call it 'Precedent of the Paw,'" Barnaby added.
"We need a trade," Ne Job insisted. "The Great Eraser is still lurking in the footnotes of our reality. We need your unpredictability to keep our narrative too fuzzy for them to delete."
"And we," the Arch-Feline said, leaping onto the desk and sniffing Ne Job's sleeve, "need your stuffing. Our realm is too soft. We have 100% fluff, but no 100% weight. We need your archived boringness—the tax codes, the rhythmic assembly manuals, the long-form essays on dust—to build better walls. Our houses keep floating away whenever someone sneezes."
The Great Exchange
The trade began. The Muse opened her satchel and began to pour out "Distilled Whimsy," which manifested as a stream of bubbles that never popped. In return, a group of calico kittens rolled out a massive ball of "Tangled Logic," which crackled with the energy of a thousand unanswered 'Whys?'.
Assistant Yue and Princess Ling coordinated the transfer of the Bureau's "Deep-Storage Boredom." Massive crates of 100% unread Terms and Conditions agreements were offloaded into the Feline Realm. As they touched the neon grass, the papers solidified, forming sturdy, if somewhat wordy, foundations for new buildings.
"It's working," Ao Bing noted, his monocle scanning the horizon. "The two dimensions are beginning to tether. We're creating a binary system. One side provides the ink, the other provides the scribbles."
The Legal Hiccup
However, the 7.5% hitch arrived in the form of the golden retriever in the sweater vest. He trotted over to Ne Job and dropped a damp tennis ball at his feet.
"I am the Public Defender," the dog whispered. "And I'm afraid the cats have tricked you. Under Section 4, Paragraph 2 of the Nap-Time Treaty, any trade involving 'Boredom' is subject to a 100% Luxury Tax payable in... Belly Rubs."
Ne Job looked at the Arch-Feline. The cat was smirking.
"He's right," the Arch-Feline said. "It's a very serious legal matter. If the tax isn't paid, the trade is 100% void, and your 'Infinite Addendum' will be repossessed by the Void."
Ne Job sighed. He looked at his dignified team. The Architect was busy measuring a floating cushion. The Muse was trying to teach a kitten how to juggle.
"Fine," Ne Job said, rolling up his sleeves. "By the power vested in me as High Commissioner... I will pay the tax."
For the next hour, the leader of the Bureau of Cosmic Alignment was occupied with the most intense administrative labor of his career: providing high-quality scritches to a Supreme Court of three hundred very demanding felines.
The Finalized Treaty
As the suns (of which there were now three, because the cats liked the lighting) began to set, the trade mission was complete. The Bureau now had a steady supply of "Uncertainty," and the Realm of Felis Paradoxa had enough "Boredom" to build a capital city that wouldn't drift away in a light breeze.
Ne Job climbed back into the cardboard box, exhausted and covered in 7.5% white fur.
LOG: CHAPTER 21 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Trade Mission 100% Successful. Luxury Tax paid in full.
NOTE: The Feline Supreme Court has ruled that 'Dogs have cooties,' but allowed the Public Defender to stay because he's a 'Good Boy.'
OBSERVATION: The Bureau's foundations are now reinforced with 7.5% feline intuition. The Great Eraser will have a very hard time deleting something that refuses to get off the couch.
P.S.: I need a lint roller. A very large, industrial-strength lint roller.
As the box began to vibrate, signaling their return to the Bureau, Ne Job felt a small, heavy object in his pocket. He pulled it out.
It was a small, silver bell on a collar. Attached was a note in Barnaby's elegant script: In case of emergency, ring for a distraction.
Ne Job smiled and tucked it away. The sequel was getting complicated, but at least it was a story worth reading.