Dear Diary,
Today I want to tell you about miss Clawfield, a young caracal patient here at the asylum. Miss Clawfield is usually quite cheery and her childlike joy makes her very popular amongst both staff and patients. I have to admit she is growing on me, but I must keep these thoughts to myself. I've heard... murmurs... within the staff, ugly tales, fearful eyes and shaky voices. I can't imagine such an innocent young thing accused of such heinous acts. Every now and then she throws temper tantrums but mostly for childish reasons. Simply holding her while petting and whispering sweet nothings to her is enough to calm her down. If all else fails, candy does the trick. The only time I've ever seen her act with any maturity is when she's crying. Miss Clawfield often cries, wails even. When she's balling she tells stories to, or converses with, imaginary figures. Behind the sniffling and choking I can almost hear the ghosts of her past, who she used to be. Miss Clawfield is quite the character, often putting a smile on my face or making my day with a sweet gesture. I think she's taken to me as well. From what I've gathered, I'm the only one who's seen her stare of affection. The magical glint in her eye flashes golds and greens. The green in her eyes dance and you can't help but soak it in, like a firework. The feeling is indescribable. I have yet to understand what her interest in me is, much less communicate with her on a deeper level. Something tells me there's a whole lot more to her. I will continue trying, but not hard enough to break her fragile state. Peace spreads with her here, and I wouldn't want to take that away from the people who need it the most.
--Det. Douglas Barkman 9/15/71
