No explanation. No phone number. Just three words in bold, black Helvetica.
Behind a high mahogany counter sat a man who looked like he was made of lint—grey suit, grey hair, and a soft, static-filled voice. we buy cats
"You buy cats?" Mrs. Gable demanded, clutching her handbag. "For what? Research? Fur?" No explanation
The man smiled, a slow, thin expression. "No, madam. For their stories. You see, a cat is a living record of every secret told in a kitchen at midnight. They are the only creatures that witness the things we think no one sees." and a soft