Hug Me Tight

“No, no, no!” I yell as I stumble around my apartment in one shoe, looking for my damn cat. “Lenny. Here, baby. Mommy has treats. Yummy, good boy treats.” Whispering, I add, “Not that you deserve them, you little bastard.”
I can’t believe he’s doing this to me today on kindergarten graduation of all days.
No, I take that back. Of course, he’s doing this to me today. He wouldn’t be Lenny if he wasn’t.
I check his litter box first. Like a true male, this feline loves to spend time in his enclosed unit that acts as a bench for me to put my shoes on…like I was trying to do when I realized he was nowhere to be found. He usually likes to take a nibble out of my big toe when I sit there. When he didn’t fling himself at me, I took notice of his absence.
Opening the double doors on the front for easy access, I find it empty. It has doors on both ends, too, so Lenny never feels trapped. I’m a bit claustrophobic, so I might be projecting just a bit onto him, but whatever.
With the automatic litter box inside, I take note that it’s clean and fresh and can wait until the weekend for a deep cleaning just as I reach for my other shoe.
Coming up empty on the cat front, I run down the hall to my spare bedroom, which is dedicated to him, because even though Lenny is an asshole most days, I love this cat like he’s my first-born son.
I walk into his room and quickly scan the space, my eyes falling first on the cat window playpen. It’s an enclosed cage outside the window that gives Lenny a place to bask in the fresh air while his little nose twitches and sniffs new smells. It has long platforms, ramps, and bridges for him to get in a good workout. He loves that we’re on the second floor, so he can feel like he’s up in the clouds without me being too anxious.
I had the super of my building build a reinforced ledge to rest the playpen on. It cost me a little more than I planned, but what else am I going to do with the money I got from losing my mom in a car accident?
Not seeing Lenny there, I check his tree and tower, then scan the entire room where his cat run spans the space up at the ceiling.
When he’s not anywhere in the room, I know further exploration in my apartment is no use. I know where that asshole went.
He escapes every day and goes in search of Denny.
Denny was my neighbor down the hall until he retired and moved to Silver Gardens where he found and reunited with his college boyfriend, who is now his husband…and also my dad.
Long story, but they’re happy, and I’m happy for them.
So, with one shoe on and one off, I hobble out of my apartment and curse these stupid artificial intelligence doors. They have facial recognition—and apparently, feline as well—because that’s how this little shit keeps getting out of my place and into the unit down the hall.
It was bad when Denny lived there because he loves Lenny as much as I do and allowed him to spend time with him. It got worse when the owner of the Maine Titans used it as a secret love nest and spilled fish water from a clambake in the unit.
And then I see it. The very tip of his tail as Lenny makes his way into the apartment.
Goddamn it. I don’t have time for a breaking and entering this morning. I’m a kindergarten teacher, and today is our graduation ceremony.