See, that's your first mistake. There is no singular Bluecat. Settle in:
What we think of as Bluecat is actually four homeless dudes, that were picked up from across Austria and housed in an abandoned warehouse on the edges of Viena. Every three weeks, a non-descript middle-aged man comes into the warehouse and provides them with bottled water, canned food and four to five notebooks filled with bits of code, stick-figure drawings and long winding paragraphs of text. He just leaves all that at the entrance and the homeless men must pore over the manuscripts, piece them together and prepare a cohesive bloc of art, code and writing for him when he next visits.
After fulfilling this duty, the middle aged man gets into his old, but serviceable sedan, and drives to the center of Viena making a quick stop to acquire more notebooks. He then heads to an old, somewhat run down mansion close to the city center. He discreetly knocks on the door and is greeted by a 70yo maid who wordlessly leads him all the way down into the bowels of the house, down to the wine cellar where he meets a satyr and a faun who proceed to speak in ancient tongues and pantomime old rituals, of which the man makes notes.
The two are not, in fact, mythical creatures, though, just a pair of extremely hairy 90yo veterans(don't think too hard about which war they're veterans of and what side they were on) with a great aversion for any sort of trousers or underwear(hence the confusion) whose minds are so addled and soaked in wine that they mostly communicate through groans, incoherent yelling and slapping their massive, flaccid cocks against each other's thighs in an oddly rythmical manner. The difference between decrepit old men and fey beings doesn't seem to register for the middle aged man as he furiously jots down everything the two offer him.
He leaves, hours later, for home; dreading the barrage of questions from his wife and children who seem to have realized that he has long since abandoned his job as a bank teller and have become more and more curious as to how he spends his time. With the only glimmer of hope being that he will soon be able to decypher enough of the satyr and faun's babbling to complete his project, one could almost forgive him for not realizing that he was, is and will always be BlueCat.
