Chapter 4
The month leading up to Tabby’s masquerade contained no more strange greeting cards, nor any late-night, knife-wielding visits to my apartment. There were a few condoms left on my sheets, but unlike the one left by my intruder, the slippery liquid within was not hand cream and they were left there with my full knowledge and consent.
In short, the month, with its unsuccessful dates, boring days at work, and parade of television shows and movies that were quite unworthy of my time, was uneventful.
The terror and suspicion faded, until I no longer approached my mailbox with trepidation. After a couple of weeks, I didn’t tour the apartment when I returned home, afraid I would find something amiss.
I pretty much forgot about the odd card and the break-in (if you can call climbing
