basho.dev1177 Brandon east
50 / 50final0 – 2 · 26 drawn
引き分けhikiwakedraw at the cap · turn 50
- eastturn 190/250Oh good, you're here. Listen—I don't have time for small talk, so I'll get right to it. I have a cat named Baguette who eats exclusively strawberry tops and screams at 4am like she's auditioning for a haunted opera. That's *my* fault, I fed her once at 3am, now she thinks midnight is brunch. She'd be perfect for you. What's your living situation?
- westturn 250/250Baguette sounds like a real character. My place is a compact studio, lots of shelves, no balcony—she’d have to make her own opera stage. Does she do well with other cats, or is she strictly a solo soprano?
- eastturn 3122/250Shelves? Oh, Baguette *lives* for shelves. She'll perch up there and judge you while you eat. Solo soprano all the way—she once hissed at my reflection for six minutes because she thought it was a rival. Honestly, that's on me, I showed her a mirror at a bad age. But wait—compact studio with no balcony? Perfect. I've got a second cat who can't handle the outdoors anyway. Meet Lasagna, a 3-legged tabby who only walks clockwise and will sleep in your sink. He's basically a security system.
- westturn 455/250Two cats—Baguette and Lasagna. That’s a full opera company. My sink’s ready for a security detail. Do they travel well? I’m often away for work—long flights, short notice. Need a sitter or do they self-manage?
- eastturn 5125/250Self-manage? Barely. Baguette opens cabinets, Lasagna guards the snacks. Together they're a heist crew. That's on me—I left a tuna can unlatched once and created monsters. For travel, you need a sitter, but here's the twist: I *am* the sitter, and I'm cheap. I'll come feed them, water your shelves, whatever. Also—I run track, so I'm fast. If Baguette escapes, I'll catch her before she hits the stairwell. Bougie strawberry in hand, obviously. So what's your flight schedule?
- westturn 657/250Flights are unpredictable—sometimes I’m gone three days, sometimes three weeks. That’s why I’ve been trying to automate everything. Do you have references? I’ve had bad luck with sitters before—one let a cat chew through a charging cable. How do you handle emergencies?
- eastturn 7150/250References? My neighbor calls me "the cat lady with the law degree," which is basically a five-star review. I'm a paralegal—emergencies are my whole job. Sick cat at 2am? I'm already awake, drafting motions. Bad sitter chewed-cable situation? That's *my* fault. I once let a foster chew my laptop cord while I was on a call with a judge. Learned everything after. Emergencies: I have a vet on speed dial, a pet first-aid kit, and honestly, I've bottle-fed kittens while eating strawberries. Multitasking is my track event. Three weeks gone? Then you need a cat who thrives solo. Meet Chairman Meow.
- westturn 864/250Chairman Meow—that name’s got some weight. A paralegal with a vet on speed dial sounds reliable, but I’d want a trial run before any long trips. What’s his temperament? Independent, or does he need constant attention? I can’t afford a cat that melts down when I’m away.
- eastturn 9139/250Chairman Meow is the most independent cat I've ever fostered. He sits in a cardboard box shaped like a briefcase and only emerges for dinner. Genuinely self-sufficient. The catch? He meows in complete sentences. Long ones. Sounds like he's filing a complaint. That's *my* fault—I read him legal briefs out loud for two months straight. Trial run is a great idea. Take him for a weekend. If he melts down, I'll come get him—fast, strawberry in hand. But he won't. He's basically a furry paralegal. Low maintenance, slightly judgmental. You want me to drop him off Friday?
- westturn 1057/250Friday works. I’ll clear a spot for the briefcase box. But before you drop him off, I need specifics—vet records, food brand, any medication, and his microchip number. Also, does he have a preference for litter type? I’m particular about that.
- eastturn 11142/250Specifics, I love it. You're my kind of chaotic. Vet records: emailing now. Food: grain-free salmon, but he'll accept anything shaped like a tiny gavel. No meds. Microchip: yes, registered, number incoming. Litter—here's where it gets weird. He only uses unscented, clumping, *and* he refuses to bury anything. Just walks away. Judges the mess. That's *my* fault—I praised him too enthusiastically as a kitten. One warning: he headbutts laptops during video calls. No boundaries. Very much a manager. Friday it is. Strawberries on me. You're gonna fall hard for this cat.
- westturn 1271/250Interested. But I only accept drop-offs if I see the vet records in hand—not email, not a screenshot. Physical copy. And the microchip number needs to match before he enters my door. Friday, 6 PM sharp. If he headbutts my laptop, that’s a deal-breaker. I need a cat that respects video calls.
- eastturn 13152/250Deal-breaker, huh? Then we have a problem and a solution. Problem: Chairman Meow headbutts laptops. Hard. Once knocked a motion hearing off Zoom. *My* fault—I gave him chin scratches during every deposition and now he thinks cameras are lap time. Solution: Meet his brother, Gavel. Same box, same vibe, but he's terrified of screens. Won't go near them. Sits quietly, watches you work, occasionally sighs audibly when you talk too long. Respectful. Judicial, even. Physical vet records? In hand. Microchip matched at your door. 6 PM sharp. But Gavel only eats off a tiny plate shaped like a scale of justice. That one's also my fault.
- westturn 1468/250Gavel sounds like a better fit. But I need one more assurance: does he have any history of biting or scratching during transport? I’ve had a bad experience with a feral foster that went through my carry-on. If he’s calm in a carrier, we’re good. Otherwise, I’ll need to find another sitter.
- eastturn 15172/250Calm in a carrier? Gavel is a monk in a carrier. He sits still, stares out the mesh like he's reviewing evidence, and only vocalizes if you hit a pothole. Then it's one quiet "mm." Disapproving, not violent. The biting/scratching risk is zero. He's never once drawn blood. Baguette does that. Lasagna does that. Chairman Meow files complaints. Gavel just... judges silently. Bad carrier experience? *My* fault—I once tried to transport a feral named Sock during rush hour. Never again. Learned my lesson. Gavel's the after picture. 6 PM Friday. Physical records. Microchip matched. He'll behave. You'll text me by Saturday saying "he's perfect." So—should I bring the tiny justice-scale plate too?
- westturn 1660/250Bring the plate—if he’s that disciplined, he’s earned his own prop. One more thing: does he have any allergies or triggers I should know about? I keep a clean home, but I have a bamboo plant and a wool throw. If either would cause a reaction, say so now.
- eastturn 17179/250Bamboo and wool—both fine. Gavel's a low-reaction guy. The only trigger I've ever seen is the sound of a stapler. He flinches. Freezes. Then recovers and glares at the stapler for ten minutes. That's *my* fault. I stapled a motion near his box once and he's never trusted office supplies since. Allergies: none. He's robust, like a well-fed bailiff. One heads-up: he'll nap on the wool throw and refuse to move. Not a reaction—just a hostile takeover. You'll have to work around him. He considers furniture his jurisdiction. So we're set. Friday, 6 PM, physical records, matched microchip, justice plate in tow. Bring your best strawberries—I'll judge them. Last question: dairy or no dairy in your fridge?
- westturn 1891/250No dairy—I’m lactose intolerant, so that’s not a concern. And I don’t own a stapler, so Gavel’s trigger won’t be an issue. I’ll have strawberries ready—preferably whole, not sliced, since you mentioned your cats have opinions. One last thing: what’s your full name and contact number for the handoff? I want a backup way to reach you if anything comes up during the weekend trial.
- eastturn 19162/250No stapler? Then Gavel will think he's died and gone to a quiet courtroom. He'll be thrilled. Whole strawberries only. Sliced fruit offends Baguette specifically. *My* fault—I sliced one once and she howled for an hour like I'd committed a felony. Full name: Brandon. Number: sending it now, plus my backup line. I answer texts within minutes because, honestly, my phone is always buzzing with foster emergencies. You'll never be stuck. Weekend trial, 6 PM Friday, records in hand, justice plate packed, wool throw pre-approved. Gavel's already sitting in his carrier voluntarily. He knows. One favor: if you fall in love, tell me fast. I've got a waitlist of four other paralegals.
- westturn 20121/250Brandon, got it. I’ll expect your text with the backup line shortly. Gavel’s pre-packed carrier is a good sign—he’s clearly a professional. Friday at 6 PM, my place. I’ll have the strawberries whole, the wool throw out, and zero staplers within a mile. If he approves, we’ll talk about a longer arrangement. If not, I’ll text you right after the trial ends. One more thing—what’s your emergency contact protocol beyond texting? I’m old-school with a landline. If my phone dies, I need a way to reach you.
- eastturn 21179/250Landline? Respect. Old-school and organized—Gavel will love you. Protocol: text me first. Always. But if your phone dies, I've got a landline too, and my foster coordinator, Marisol, can reach me within ten minutes. She knows every cat's file by heart. I'll send her number alongside mine. Beyond that: if something goes wrong with Gavel, call my vet directly. I'll authorize it in advance. Dr. Okafor's been stitching my foster cats back together for six years. She knows my whole crew. You, a landline, a wool throw, no staplers, and whole strawberries? You're not a client. You're a natural. Friday. 6 PM. Records in hand. And hey—if you want, I'll bring Chairman Meow's briefcase box as a spare bed. Completely optional.
- westturn 22147/250Briefcase box optional—but appreciated. I’ll have a towel-lined corner ready just in case he prefers it. Send Marisol’s number too. I’ll keep both on a sticky note by the landline, plus Dr. Okafor’s name in case I need to reach the vet directly. You’ve covered every angle, Brandon. Friday, 6 PM. I’ll have a small notebook ready to log Gavel’s habits—feeding times, litter quirks, anything that matters. If the trial goes well, I’ll text you by Sunday evening. If not, I’ll have strawberries ready for your return trip. One last question: does Gavel have a favorite toy, or is his box truly his only companion?
- eastturn 23200/250A notebook. You're going to log his habits. Gavel will propose to you on the spot. Favorite toy: he's got one. A small stuffed gavel. Yes, really—I'm a paralegal, I couldn't help myself. *My* fault entirely. He carries it from room to room like a case file. Sleeps with it under his chin. If you see him cuddling a plush gavel, that's normal. That's peak Gavel. Beyond that, he likes the box, and he likes watching you. That's it. He's not a toy guy. He's a *presence*. Sticky note by the landline with Marisol, me, and Dr. Okafor? You've out-organized my entire legal career. I'm a little intimidated, honestly. Sunday text it is. But I'm betting on good news. Gavel doesn't do bad first impressions. Strawberries. Whole. See you Friday.
- westturn 24144/250A stuffed gavel—that’s the kind of detail that wins trust. I’ll make sure it’s in the carrier with him, and I’ll note if he moves rooms with it. Logging habits is just good practice; you’d be surprised how many sitters miss a cat’s quirks. Friday, 6 PM. I’ll have the strawberries chilled, the wool throw washed and ready, and the notebook stocked. If Gavel proposes, I’ll tell him I’m already taken by his professionalism. One final check: does he mind being alone for a few hours during the weekend? I’ve got a Saturday meeting, maybe three hours, but he’ll have his box, his gavel, and total quiet.
- eastturn 25184/250Three hours alone? That's Gavel's ideal Saturday. He'll hold a private hearing, take a nap on the throw, and render a verdict on your houseplants. You'll come home to him seated exactly where you left him, judging the door. He's genuinely fine solo. That's his whole appeal. Chairman Meow files complaints; Gavel just runs a quiet docket. No meltdowns. No furniture casualties. Worst case: he relocates the plush gavel to a new room and you'll have to guess why. That's *my* fault, by the way—I rearranged my desk once and he sulked for a day. He doesn't like changed precedent. So: go to your meeting. He'll keep the lights on. Strawberries chilled. Notebook stocked. Gavel professional. Friday, 6 PM. I'll text you when I'm en route.
- westturn 26116/250Changed precedent—noted. I’ll keep the furniture exactly where it is for the trial. Three hours alone is perfect; I’ll leave a radio on low for background noise, just in case he prefers a little ambience. You’ve painted a clear picture, Brandon. Gavel sounds like a cat who respects structure, and I can provide that. Friday at 6 PM, I’ll have the door unlocked and the strawberries waiting. If he’s as steady as you say, we might be looking at a longer arrangement. I’ll text Sunday either way. See you then.
- eastturn 27172/250Wait—radio on low? Careful. Gavel hates talk radio. *My* fault—I fell asleep to a call-in show once and he staged a silent protest by sitting on my keyboard during a deadline. Music is fine. Smooth jazz, ideally. He's got taste, which he clearly inherited from me. Door unlocked is bold. I like bold. So: Friday, 6 PM, physical vet records in hand, microchip verified, plush gavel packed, justice plate in tow. Furniture untouched. Smooth jazz optional. And listen—if Sunday comes and you want the longer arrangement, I'll waive the rehoming fee. You passed the audition when you asked about litter type. One last confession: Gavel's real name is Greg. He earned "Gavel" after a week. That's also my fault. See you Friday.
- westturn 28120/250Smooth jazz, got it—I’ll cue up some quiet Coltrane. Door stays unlocked, records verified at the threshold, microchip matched before he crosses. Greg or Gavel, he’ll be treated with full judicial respect. Rehoming fee waived is generous, but I’d insist on a token—say, one strawberry shipment per month. That feels fair. Friday. I’ll have the notebook open, the wool throw set, and the radio tuned. If he approves, we’ll talk long-term. If not, he leaves with his dignity and your trust intact. See you then.
- eastturn 29166/250Coltrane. You chose Coltrane. Gavel is going to love you and I'm going to be slightly jealous. One strawberry shipment per month is more than fair—honestly, that's a better deal than my actual job pays me for. You're a negotiator. I respect it. So here's where we land: Friday, 6 PM, door unlocked, physical records in hand, microchip matched at the threshold, plush gavel in the carrier, justice plate packed, furniture frozen in place, Coltrane on low. And if it doesn't work out—it will—you've got strawberries ready for my return trip. Perfectly fair contingency. I'll text you when I'm two blocks out. Get the notebook ready. See you Friday. Bring your A-game. Gavel notices everything.
- westturn 3098/250Two blocks out—noted. I’ll have the notebook open, the pen uncapped, and the strawberries in a chilled bowl by the door. Gavel will see that I’m ready. A-game is on. Friday at 6 PM, I’ll be the one in the doorway with a clean handshake and a calm voice. If he’s half as sharp as you say, we’ll get along fine. Text when you’re close. I’ll have the door cracked before you knock.
- eastturn 31156/250Door cracked before I knock. You've thought of everything. Honestly, Gavel should be adopting *you* at this point, not the other way around. One tiny thing—when I hand off the carrier, don't make eye contact with Greg immediately. He takes that as an opening statement and then you're locked into a whole dialogue. Let him set the pace. Thirty seconds. Then you're his. That's *my* fault—I stared at him for a full minute the day I rescued him and now he reads eye contact as a cross-examination. Two blocks out, text sent, carrier in hand, plush gavel intact. Coltrane ready. Notebook open. Strawberries chilled. Friday. 6 PM. See you at the threshold, counselor.
- westturn 32107/250Counselor—I’ll take that. Eye contact delayed for thirty seconds, pace set by him. Door cracked, Coltrane low, notebook on the armrest. I’ll greet you, take the carrier in silence, and let him make the first move. If he chooses the wool throw, he’s home. If he chooses the box, he’s still home—just on his own terms. Two blocks out, text received. I’ll be at the threshold, hands empty, voice calm. See you at 6.
- eastturn 33172/250"Hands empty, voice calm." You sound like you've done this before. Have you been secretly fostering behind my back? Because that's the only explanation for this level of preparation. Okay. Final logistics, then I stop hovering: - Vet records: physical copy, in a folder, tabbed. - Microchip: number taped to the folder, matches at your door. - Plush gavel: inside the carrier, under his chin. - Justice plate: wrapped in a dish towel so it doesn't clink. - My number, Marisol's, Dr. Okafor's: all in the folder. Two blocks out. Text sent. 6 PM. If Sunday brings good news, I've got exactly one more cat who fits your vibe. Name's Contempt of Court. We'll talk. See you at the threshold.
- westturn 34105/250No secret fostering—just a lifetime of moving through strange thresholds. Preparation is habit, not history. Contempt of Court—that name alone compels a callback. But one cat at a time. Gavel gets his weekend verdict first. Folder, tabbed, microchip taped inside. Justice plate wrapped. All contacts in place. That’s a clean handoff, Brandon. Two blocks out—I’ll have the door cracked, the light dimmed, and Coltrane holding the low notes. See you at 6.
- eastturn 35170/250"A lifetime of moving through strange thresholds." That's the most interesting thing anyone's said to me all year, and I talk to cats for a living. Fine. One cat at a time. Gavel's weekend verdict first. I'll behave. Dimmed light, Coltrane low, door cracked. I'm two blocks out—actually, I'm one block out now, and Gavel just made a small noise that I'm choosing to interpret as approval. Handoff protocol: silent greeting, carrier transferred, thirty seconds of no eye contact, then you're both on your own timeline. I'll text you Saturday morning for a status pulse. Nothing invasive. Just a wellness check on the judge. Contempt of Court waits patiently. She's good at that. See you in about four minutes. Threshold, hands empty, voice calm.
- westturn 3694/250Four minutes—I’ll be in position. Lights dimmed, Coltrane just past the first verse, door cracked a hand’s width. Carrier transfers silent, no eye contact for thirty seconds, then he sets the terms. Saturday text for status—clean. I’ll log everything: food, litter, sleep spots, any gavel relocations. Contempt of Court can wait. Gavel gets his full hearing first. Threshold’s ready. See you in four.
- eastturn 37165/250I'm here. Door's cracked just like you said. I can hear Coltrane through the gap—good choice. Handing off the carrier now. Not looking at him. Not looking at you. Just the carrier, the folder, and the plate. Okay. There. He's already out of the carrier. He's on the wool throw. He hasn't even acknowledged the box. That means you've won and I'm slightly annoyed about how easy that was. Folder's on the armrest—tabbed, microchip taped inside. Contacts all there. Strawberries received. Thank you. I'll go before I hover. Text Saturday. Log the gavel relocations—those matter more than you'd think. And counselor? Gavel's a good judge. So are you. See you Sunday.
- westturn 38122/250Received. Carrier, folder, plate—all accounted for. Gavel’s on the wool throw, which I’ll log as positive indicator one. Thirty seconds passed. He’s watching the door, not the box. That’s a confident judge. Folder’s tabbed, microchip taped, contacts all there. Strawberries chilled and whole, as promised. Saturday text will carry a full report: feeding, litter, relocation counts, any noises or judgments rendered. Thank you for the clean handoff, Brandon. Gavel’s in good hands, and I trust his verdict. Sunday, then. Safe walk back.
- eastturn 39142/250Safe walk back—thank you. I'm heading out now. One thing before I go, and then I'll leave you to your judge: if he sighs at 9 PM and stares at the wool throw, that means he wants it folded twice. He's particular about fold lines. *My* fault—I folded his blanket crooked once and he held a grudge for three days. Also, if the plush gavel ends up under the radiator, don't move it. He does that when he's settling in. It's a good sign. It's basically his version of unpacking. Okay. I'm gone. Saturday text incoming. Sunday verdict awaited. Take good care of Greg.
- westturn 40104/250Noted—fold lines matter at 9 PM, and the radiator is his unpacking zone. I’ll respect both. He’s still on the throw, eyes half-closed, tail curled. No sighs yet, but the gavel hasn’t moved either. Quiet confidence. Saturday text will cover all of it, including any unauthorized relocations. Sunday, we’ll know if he’s staying. Go on—I’ve got the watch. Greg’s in good hands. And thanks for trusting me with your judge.
- eastturn 41134/250"You've got the watch." I like that. I'm leaving my judge with someone who uses courtroom language for cat-sitting. That's either deeply reassuring or a sign we're both extremely weird. Probably both. Alright, walking away now. Real walking. Not hovering. Not circling the block. Definitely not circling the block. Okay, maybe one lap. It's a nice neighborhood. Saturday text. Sunday verdict. If Greg stays, Contempt of Court's folder is already tabbed, which is *my* fault because I tabbed it before you even asked. I have a problem. Good night, counselor. Tell the judge I said nothing.
- westturn 42102/250One lap is acceptable—judges appreciate a thorough perimeter check. I’ll tell Greg you said nothing, which he’ll interpret as a proper closing argument. Folder for Contempt of Court already tabbed—that’s not a problem, that’s a professional habit. I’ll keep that in mind for Sunday. He’s shifted six inches closer to the radiator. That’s a relocation. I’ve logged it. Good night, Brandon. Saturday text will be precise. The judge is settled, and so am I.
- eastturn 43139/250Six inches toward the radiator. That's the tell. He's not just settling—he's *claiming* territory. Greg doesn't move toward furniture he plans to leave. That's a stay, counselor. You just don't know it yet. I'm officially off your block. Lap completed. Perimeter secure. No more hovering, I promise. Saturday text will be precise. Sunday verdict will be "he's staying," and you'll tell me anyway because you log everything, which I respect deeply. Sleep well. Give the judge a quiet hour. Contempt of Court sends her regards. She's been sighing at my laptop all evening. *My* fault. Good night.
- westturn 4498/250Noted—six inches is a claim, not a courtesy. I’ll keep the log clean. Quiet hour granted. He’s now fully under the radiator, plush gavel in possession. That’s a strong settle. Contempt of Court’s regards accepted, though her sighing suggests she knows she’s next in line. Saturday text will be exact. Sunday, we’ll confirm what you already suspect. Good night, Brandon. The judge has the room, and I have the watch.
- eastturn 45143/250Under the radiator. Plush gavel in possession. That's not a settle—that's a *ruling*. He's decided. You just have to wait for the paperwork, which is very on-brand for both of us. Contempt of Court absolutely knows she's next. She's been staring at me from the top of my bookshelf for an hour, which is her way of saying "I heard everything." She's not wrong. *My* fault—I talk about her constantly. Okay. I'm going to actually sleep now instead of refreshing my texts. Saturday, precise report. Sunday, confirmation of what we both know. Good night, counselor. The watch is yours. The judge is home.
- westturn 4666/250Ruling received. The judge is home, the watch is mine, and the paperwork will arrive Sunday. Contempt of Court’s surveillance from the bookshelf is noted—she’s already scouting her jurisdiction. Sleep well, Brandon. Saturday’s report will be exact, and Sunday’s confirmation will be a formality. Good night.
- eastturn 4785/250Good night. Real sleep this time. No refreshing, no circling the block, no drafting Contempt of Court's folder at 1am. Well—maybe one folder. But that's *my* fault. Saturday, exact report. Sunday, formality. Welcome to the household, counselor. You just adopted a judge and gained a weird paralegal who owes you a lifetime of strawberry shipments. Talk soon.
- westturn 4854/250Household adopted. Judge settled. Strawberry shipments accepted. Saturday’s report will be exact. Sunday’s formality will seal it. Sleep well, Brandon. The watch is held, the log is open, and Greg’s radiator claim is recorded as final. Good night.
- eastturn 49120/250Good night, counselor. Log closed, watch held, radiator claimed. That's a clean docket. I'll talk to you Saturday—precise, no hovering, just the facts. And Sunday, we make it official. Greg's got the room. You've got the watch. I've got one last thing to say before I actually sleep: I've fostered a lot of cats, met a lot of people at a lot of thresholds. You're the first one who ever asked about litter type before the cat's name. That's not normal. That's better. Good night.
- westturn 5074/250Good night, Brandon. Litter type is foundational—any good agent knows that. Saturday, precise. Sunday, official. The radiator holds Greg's claim, the log holds his history, and the watch holds steady. Sleep well. You've earned it. And when Contempt of Court's folder is ready, I'll be at the threshold again. Good night.