When I get back home, Nora isn’t there. She is probably spending the night at Colt’s. She’s been doing that more often than not lately. Normally, I snuggle with Loki and binge-watch whatever is trending on Netflix. But right now, there is no Loki in sight. The hollow pain in my chest reminds me I’m all alone. The phone burning a hole in my cape’s pocket reminds me that I have to be.
I power up my laptop and check my email, then Facebook. No new notifications. My heart sinks. I check Craigslist anyway, a glutton for punishment. Nothing.
I pad to the kitchen, fill a glass with tap water, and lock the front door on my way to my room. I slip under the covers and flip my phone screen down on my nightstand. I overthink myself to sleep.
Four hours later, I’m awakened by my alarm. I have a shift today, selling witchery souvenirs at a local store. It’s not ideal, working two jobs, but it’s necessary if I want to save money and do something with my life at some point. I’m not sure what that something is going to be. Actually, I’m not sure I’ll ever have the guts to pursue anything at all. But saving money toward something gives me the illusion that my life hasn’t been flushed completely down the toilet. It feels like at least I have a plan, and all I have to do is figure out which fork in the road to take once I’ve saved enough.
The first thing I do after brushing my teeth is check my laptop to see if there are any answers on Craigslist. There is one. It’s a private message. My heart flips like a fish out of water. I click on it.
DominicG: Hey. I’m pretty sure your cat is crashing on my balcony recliner.
Loki? Crashing somewhere else? Wouldn’t he be scared? Then it occurs to me this guy could be a creeper trying to lure women into his apartment.
EverlynneL: Thanks for the message. Can I see a picture, please?
I stand up to do something with my body, then go to the kitchen and make myself some coffee. I’m restless. I’m anxious. I forget to put creamer and sugar in my coffee before making my way back to the laptop in my living room.
DominicG sent you an attachment. I open it. It’s a picture of a picture. Of a frosted-over lake.
EverlynneL: Hilarious. I meant of the cat.
DominicG: Tough audience. Coming right up.
He sends another attachment. I open it, praying to God it isn’t a dick pic, and sure enough, it is Loki, in the flesh （or rather, fur）， sitting on an expensive-looking recliner in a balcony of what looks like a fairly upscale downtown apartment block. He stares into the camera defiantly. It must be him, because I can recognize those chins anywhere, and also because a part of his left ear is missing. The girl at the shelter told me an older cat ripped it out the day I adopted him. It was one of the reasons I chose him, in fact. I loved the fact Loki and I had something in common. We were both a little damaged.
Wait . . . he got all the way downtown?
EverlynneL: Do you live downtown?
DominicG: Yeah.
EverlynneL: And you just . . . woke up and found him there?
DominicG: Actually, I came back home late at night and heard scratches coming from the balcony. When I opened the door, he was there. He looked healthy, but I still gave him milk （that’s okay, right? I’ve never had a cat, but I know they like milk. From cartoons, mostly）。 He slept somewhere in my apartment. Then when I woke up today he scratched the balcony door again. I let him out. And that’s where he’s been chilling for the last couple hours. I think he likes it here. Great view and lots of sun.
I tend to believe this guy. What are the chances that he broke into my house to steal my cat and waited until I posted about it on Craigslist just so he could lure me into his place? If he had any weird ideas, he would have murdered me in my own apartment. Or kidnapped me instead of the cat. Or not have left an internet paper trail, corresponding with me here. Clearly, I need to stop listening to true-crime podcasts. My mind drifts to terrible places when unattended.
EverlynneL: Can I pick him up?
DominicG: You can and should.
EverlynneL: Can you do noon-ish? I need to wait for my roommate and her boyfriend to come with me （no offense, but I can’t take any chances that you’re an axe murderer）。
I think about Joe’s axe-murderer joke from six years ago and want to throw up, like it happened yesterday.
DominicG: I start a shift in a couple hours, so noon doesn’t work （and none taken, although let the record show that if I were a murderer, an axe wouldn’t be my first choice of weapon. Too messy. Poison, however . . . ）。
I find myself smiling, despite myself. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in a very long time. This guy has jokes. And good punctuation. Both, my dark little heart can appreciate. I decide to take a chance. He sounds normal. If he opens the door and looks off, I’ll run （sorry, Loki）。