PUBLIC
CAT.
He belongs to nobody. He waits everywhere. And at exactly 2:13 AM, every forgotten object in the city tells him the truth.
THE CITY MOVES TOO ↓
WHY DOES
HE LOOK
LIKE THAT?
His real name disappeared years ago. Not dramatically. Someone simply forgot to write it down.
He grew up in the warm square between a record shop, a night bus stop and a twenty-four-hour laundromat. Everyone fed him. Nobody owned him. The barista called him “ours.” The bus driver called him “sir.” The city ledger had only one box that fit: PUBLIC.
His enormous eyes come from staying awake for other people. His mouth looks disappointed because he knows what humans type and then delete. The soft gray crown is rain, rooftop dust and every winter he survived. The white blaze on his face is shaped like a street seen from above.
He is drawn in pencil because no camera ever keeps him exactly. Every person remembers a slightly different cat. The sketch is the only portrait they can all agree is true.
ONE NIGHT.
FIVE WITNESSES.
Drag the map. Tap a place. Public Cat will walk there and recover what the city left behind.
The Record Shop
A pair of headphones hums after closing. Inside: a song his first human played before leaving the city. Public Cat listens once every night, but never to the ending.
01 / 05 RECOVEREDTUNE INTO
HIS THOUGHTS.
Slide between frequencies. The city is loud; he is very quiet.
THE PUBLIC
CONSTELLATION
Drag the moon to rotate the route. Tap any orbiting object to open a future memory.
THE FIRST BENCH
A place to sit appears before the world asks where it is going.
MAKE HIM
MORE PUBLIC.
Change the mood, stamp the portrait, then save your combination as a little memory.