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).