Mr. Meow-Meow had vanished again. I was always curious about the kinds of adventures he was on when he wasn’t home. Boring ones, I’d imagine. It wasn’t as if our neighborhood was very exciting, even for a cat. No parks to speak of. Not many fences or alleys. Just row after row of quiet apartments and tiny cars.

I never tried to follow him. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m being followed every night and I don’t like it. There’s no evidence that I’m being followed, no men in trench coats and ear pieces, or anything. Rather it’s just a feeling I get, a tingling between my shoulder blades that that usually flares up on my way home from the train station. I suppose if I had tried to follow him I would have met the girl at the bus stop sooner. Whose to say how that would have turned out?

My point is that I offer Mr. Meow-Meow as much respect as I can for good luck. I’m not superstitious overall but when it comes to cats, I walk very carefully. There’s just something otherworldly about cats, even one like mine.