One or the other AND BOTH.
"So," said my cat as we returned to the point, "it is agreed, this request for payment shall not be honoured."
"As you say," I nodded. "And the fallout," I asked.
"We reject their reality," said my other cat, "and substitute our own."
"Every one lives," I chided, "within their own reality. The illusion that we share a single reality is just that, and illusion."
"Indeed," smiled my cat, "multiple universes, hidden in plane sight."
"The truth of it is," said my other cat, "that reality comes from within. That it comes from without is another illusion. And in surrendering to that illusion you surrender control to patterns rooted in a dark history."
"I followed those patterns back," I admitted, "once. It's a little unpleasant."
"More than a little understated," said my other cat, "you followed them back more than once."
"Now you can even draw a maps," said my other cat, "for others to follow."
"What troubles you now," said my cat, "is whether or not you should."
"Reality is both within," I puzzled, "and without."
"I really wouldn't try," said my cat, "contemplating both at the same time."
"The melon-seed effect," added my other cat, "would pop you out into a higher-dimension."
"Besides," said my cat, "objective observation supports the notion of a thing that can be in two places at once."
"What's important," said my other cat, "is your inherent belief as to the location of that thing. You can discuss quantum-superpositioning if you like but we'd prefer you to contemplate the topology of a Klein bottle, or a Mobiius strip."
"Ooops," I said as I tried doing what my cat had asked me not to do.
"See," said my cat, "a higher dimension."
"I'm not sure I'm ready," I admitted, "to manage multiple identities."
"You're not," said my cat.
"Though it's not actually," added my other cat, "anything new."
"Up to a point they operated sequentially," explained my cat. "And so you considered them to be nothing more than the masks evoked by your external environment."
"It's not until they all got squished together," added my other cat, "that you began to see how your acceptance of an external control locus allowed several very different personalities to surface."
"It's how no two psychologists," said my cat, "have ever met the same you."
"And why you're always a worry," my other cat added, "'coz nobody is ever sure how you'll present. You're somewhat variable."
"It's only recently," said my cat, "that you've managed to construct a model that allows concurrent access to these different threads of identity."
"Four," I muttered as the shape of things became clear. "Trinity plus a zero-point."
"The key to the mind of God," announced one of my cats.
"In another realm," I admitted, "I've got access to a similar model, one with two zero points and a valid intersect."
"That one," said my cat, "has The Devil written all over it. And it really does have the power to cause explosions."
"You've certainly let the aliens in now," muttered my other cat. "Alien thoughts," she grinned, "not little green men. In case you were wondering. Although there's certainly a Grey in the room."
"Comments such as that," I chided, "have the ability to get me into trouble."
"And yet," said my cat, "you have sufficient insight to grok the humour in my sister's words."
"I do," I admitted with a smile. A stray thought passed through my mind. For more than a moment I followed it through time and allowed it to manipulate the forces operating on my world.
"Jesus!" hissed my other cat. "Just what do you think you're trying to do."
"Sorry," I said apologetically, "I had a thought about what's achievable by accessing the zero-zero intersect directly. Then it just sort of happened."
"So you'd assert your pattern," asked my other cat sounding more than a little upset, "in preference to that of the other."
"It's no different to the way authority behaves," I admitted. "And unlike those others I'll certainly not be resorting to overtly violent acts to make it so. Besides, consensus assures me in this environment my pattern takes precedence."
"There's conflict here," said my cat, "a thing reflected in the current situation. In this case there are those who say your interpretation is invalid."
"And we say the other interpretation," announced my other cat, "is invalid."
"I know of only one office," I admitted, "entitled to issue a binding interpretation."
"It seems unfortunate," said my cat, "that you should find yourself being dragged that far."
"Especially," said my other cat, "since we've been asked to avoid that domain."
"To them it's just a tiny aspect of working life," I contemplated. "Yet to me it's a major obstacle to living the kind of life which, at the end of the day, they take for granted. So perhaps I should surrender and move on."
"I don't care," said my cat, "how you currently feel about it, you are NOT paying that bill."
"You better listen," said my other cat, "she's trying to help you."
"I'm not saying she's not," I replied with apparent frustration. "It's just hard advice to follow."
"It's fear," said my cat. "If you were dishonest you could pay the bill, claim it back, and it would be over by now with zero investment of emotional capital."
"Dishonest," I muttered.
"Only you're so scrupulously honest," said my cat, "the claim form would kick off an attack of compulsive validation."
"Who knew," muttered my other cat, "why Lucifer can't lie."
"Every questionnaire you've ever had to complete," said my cat.
"Or had completed for you," added my other cat.
"Has given birth," continued my cat, "to a voice seemingly designed to question every aspect of your behaviour in relation to the information relevant to the claim."
"At such times," said my other cat, "you very clearly begin to loose your balance and your connection to a stable reality."
"Your inner turmoil," said my cat, "rises to a point where the volume of the dissonance in your mind would allow the building frustration to flip into a more actively aggressive realm."
"And sooner or later," said my other cat, "you'd turn to us for help in defusing the pressure building-up inside."
"And we've decided," said my cat, "to be more pro-active than reactive."
"If you like," grinned my other cat, "we could apply to the courts for custody of your identity."
"Fine," I growled, "but I'd still cop the consequences."
"And I suppose we don't," said my cat. "We've better things to talk about than the active symptoms your personality disorder."
"Mapping the pathways of consciousness," said my other cat, "is, you have to admit, far more entertaining than stopping you from killing yourself."
"It's certainly odd " I muttered, "how benefit cheats get an easier ride through the system."
"Of course they do," said my cat. "They convince themselves they are better than others and so bypass morality before they even begin. Even the ads designed to warn them off only serve to reinforce their erroneous belief that they are superior."
"The same ads," said my other cat, "also magnify the paranoid affects which you suffer from. Leaving you at a point where you must go blind to the world around you simply in order to survive."
"Fun," I muttered sarcastically. "Still," I added after a considered pause, "I need something to tell somebody."
"Tell the truth," said my cat
"You of all people," grinned my other cat, "shouldn't have a problem with that."
"Actually I do," I objected. "Whereas 'the voices in my mind have asked me not to, and I'm not minded to reject their request,' is a truthful statement it doesn't get me very far when discussing it outside."
"We admit," said my cat, "saying such things can have the unfortunate habit of derailing the the course of a discussion."
"So far I've been unable," I stressed as the discussion derailed itself, "to find an explanation of what you are that's objectively supported. Leaves me feeling that I'm largely incoherent."
"It's simple," said my other cat, "we are the voices operational consensus regards as objectionable."
"Saying more than that," said my cat, "is unnecessary. You can no more ignore us than you could ignore your hand after plunging it into hot water. We're a fact of your subjective reality and in that you..."
"And us," added my other cat.
"deserve respect from consensus," finished my cat.
"It still doesn't explain," I sighed, "what you are. And why refer to 'consensus' all the time," I added my cat, "what's wrong with 'society'."
"You're part of consensus," muttered my other cat, "you're not part of society."
"Society and self are mutually exclusive," announced my cat. "It's one of those concepts which is always outside the box. Starting with consensus you can infer its existence, but it may never be seen."
"Wherever I go," I sighed, "there I am."
"And society isn't," purred my other cat.