I woke up stiff, in a fetal position. I’d thrown a comforter on the floor of the cage, and curled up waiting for Tad, watching the night’s growing blizzard through the bars. Remarkably, I’d slept soundly. The cage door was ajar. I crawled out. Through the bedroom window, the sky was cloudless. Drifting piles of snow blew on nearby rooftops. It was picturesque. I was not surprised that Tad had not shown up. Part of the game was confusion, and there was an increasing mixture of fear and mystery. It thrilled me. I stumbled into the living room, noticing a large bold note taped to the front door.
“Good Boy. Next time you get the ball.”
Tad had been in my house. Had he watched me sleep, like a strict, perverse lover, maybe gently touching my body, not rousing me, but playfully fondling, pinch
