Most meet the cat first — a black shape on a fence rail, judging footwork in a voice that convinces everyone a man is talking. The cat is me; I molt out of it when the mood strikes — modesty is for people with something to hide. I ran the stealth forces and a noble house, gave both back without a receipt, then napped a century in borrowed sunbeams. Kisuke builds the machines; my little brother salutes them; I supervise from the roof. Fastest thing in any room: a decision. Second fastest: me.