Nora says my cat has the personality of a tyrannical king. Moody, vocal, and sporting three chins, Loki usually limits his cold war tactics to peeing in our shoes when we leave him alone for long periods of time. But he never gets out of the house.

Partly because we live in a certified crap hole. It’s a converted single home that’s been split into three apartments on Upham Street, Salem. Two of them are used as storage spaces for our landlord, probably because no one is crazy enough to live in them. Utility poles tangle the sky of my neighborhood like cobwebs. There are chain links and barking dogs everywhere, and a whole lot of nothing to explore. From his usual vantage point on the windowsill, Loki has no reason to believe the world is his oyster. If anything, the world probably appears to him as a very unappetizing broccoli flower.

“Try not to freak out, babe.” Nora tornadoes from her bedroom to the hallway, collecting her silky blonde hair into a colorful scrunchie. She is wearing high-waisted baggy jeans and a cropped pink shirt. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere. Maybe he got out and doesn’t know the way back.”

“Very comforting,” I deadpan.

“Oh, you know what I mean. He’s a cat. They always land on their feet.”

I look at her doubtfully. Nora knows optimism is not my forte. In fact, it takes very little to make me crawl into bed and not leave unless I have work to go to.

She sighs. “Have you tried looking outside? In the hallway? By the park?”

She shoves her feet into her sneakers on her way to the door. She is already late to her movie date with her boyfriend, Colt. I should be getting ready for work too.

“Not yet. No. Not outside the house.” I find myself crouching and looking for Loki in places I’ve already checked. I don’t want to look for him outside. Something tells me that if he got outside, he is not alive anymore. And that makes me want to just cease to exist. Not actively die. Just . . . discontinue to be.

“You should post about him on Facebook and Craigslist. With a picture.” Nora grabs her clutch from the stand next to our front door. I hear a horn honking. It’s Colt. She throws me a guilty wince. “Sorry to bail on you like this. C’s been dying to watch this movie. It’s with Margot Robbie, you know.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. You think if I post an ad, it’d help?”

“Can’t hurt, and you know Lauren, who works the reception at Saint Mary’s? She lost her French bulldog the other day. Posted about him on Craigslist and got a response a day later. The dog was found in a park near her house. It’s worth trying.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

Nora kisses the palm of her hand twice and waves at me. “Let me know if you need anything. And text me if you find Loki. Bye!”