Scrampled Eggies

"Helo my name is Catto. Welcome to my restaurante. The 'e' is silent but I'm not telling you which one, but it takes a non-government regulated scientist to figure it out. But don't tell the drones-- I mean birds I said that."

You don't know how you got here but you sit in a booth. You ask for a menu.

"No menu!!1! You can order scrampled eggies and tea or starve."

You don't want scrampled? eggies, but you can't disappointe this catto. He's only had a restaurante for five minutes, and he could also serve tuna but that's his lunch so you can fite him for it. You'll lose. He has claws. "Scrampled? Do you mean scrambled?"

"Nooooo!!! The chef can only make scrampled eggies with cheese. Do you want them?"

You want to leave. At home, you have Chicken Alfredo on the stove, but it will probably burn since you don't know how to leave since you don't know how you got here. You order the scrampled? eggies and tea. Catto zoomies into the kitchen. He is the head chef too, which is why he knows the menu by heart and how to make it. You wonder how much it will cost to eat here. There are no windows.

About ten minutes later, catto comes out carrying a tray with a plate of scrampled eggies and a teacup full of tea. He sets it down in front of you. Scrampled is just scrambled, and you inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. The tea smells like catnip and echinacea. Both of which are safe for cattos to consume.

Catto watches you eat. The eggies don't taste like much, but you think they've been seasoned with a little salt and the cheese, chedddar, adds flavor. The tea is unsweetened because cattos can't have sweetener and also you're not sure if catnip and echinacea is a good combo or nah. This restaurante is meant for cats but you are human. You finish eating.

"Did you like it?????????????"

You say yes.

"Here's the bill."

It's 25 dollars. The look in the cat's eyes says that he expects you to tip. You only have 26 dollars. Catto takes it but you can see he's angry about the one dollar tip, which isn't even 10% of the bill. This was an expensive lunch.

You blink and you wind up back home. The clock says the exact same time. The food hasn't burned, even though you were gone maybe half an hour at most. It even looks the way it did before you left. The water is boiling. The sauce is thickening. The chicken still needs cut up.

You can't remember if it's the FBI or the CIA who does all the mind tricks and control on people, but you're pretty sure they're onto you and sent you to Catto's restaurante while they searched your house. You just know it. You know something is missing, but you don't know what. You look at the cat tree in the living room, and you remember your cat was there. Catto looked a lot like your cat and even had the same name. That was just coincidence, and the memory was quickly fading away.

You look inside your wallet. The money is gone.

What happened to your cat?