My dad has always loved video games. When I was young, we had a Dendy, and we played games together. Later, we got a computer, and Dad started playing alone. He has been doing this every day since then. After my parents separated, everything changed. My mum and I left, and Dad stayed on his own. Since then, he has started accumulating things, and the apartment has become distorted. My dad fixes appliances, so my childhood things are mixed up with wires and tools. For me, this apartment is a place of memory, but at the same time, it is my father's personal territory. It is important for me to preserve my childhood memories, despite the mess. My father, on the other hand, would prefer that no such memories of him remain at all. This is where the line between our interests lies, so I work on the project when he is not at home. He doesn't know about it. I make my way through the clutter and freeze at the sound of footsteps in the stairwell. I'm afraid of getting caught. I understand that I am violating another person's boundaries. And yet I can't stop myself. I capture the apartment with photographs and 3D scans, creating virtual models. Working with 3D reminds me of the time when my father and I played old computer games together. With the help of photography, I archive my memories of the place. I also make objects based on how I feel about the space. These methods help me create a layered space in which different times coexist. In my project “Moon Cat,” I reflect on my conflicting feelings toward my parent and on the tension between love, shame, and disgust, which often remain unspoken. I raise the question of where the right to memory intersects with intrusion into another’s private space.