The Universe has an infinite amount of everything—different things, beings, and events. But only one thing works stably and flawlessly always, under all circumstances, and for all creatures: Meanness’s Law. I don’t know about other people, but for me, it’s at least two hundred percent effective. In fact, there is nothing more stable in my life. There are contributing factors: carelessness, flippancy, recklessness, chance, laziness, and foolishness. And the result of their action is called ‘Meanness’s Law’. I run into it so often that it’s become an integral part of my life. Wherever I go, whatever I do, it’s always there and always working. No matter how hard the persistent law tries to make me more attentive, I’m just as frivolous as before.

This Law has become my constant Alter Ego. I’d like to befriend it, but that wouldn’t be fair to life, because then I’d know about all the nasty things that are bound to happen. I don’t want our friendship to be self-serving—it would mean I’m just using it. What if we just chat when we meet, every time something happens? And we have quite a few of those meetings. Maybe it would even prompt me where the next ambush or trap lies hidden. Ugh, I missed an opportunity today. It was such a great meeting. I’d even call it a classic. No sooner do I cut my finger than the water’s turned off, and there’s nothing to wash the blood away with. The bandage and the plaster I’d been carrying everywhere for seven years have vanished. The day before, I smashed the bottle of antiseptic.

It’s a good thing the Law hasn’t gotten to the cotton wool and the bottle of whiskey. By the time I find them, bloody patterns are already appearing on my finger. And the cut itself is no simple thing. It’s practically decorative carving on my finger. I sit, looking out the window, and think, why is it always the case that Meanness’s Law works so reliably, and most importantly, why does it need to? What’s more, this week it has outdone itself. Of course, it all started on Monday. The alarm clock rings. It was supposed to sound, but there was no ring, even though I set it for five-thirty. I forgot to press the activation button, which means it all started on Sunday evening, if you want to trace it back.

My friends and I were celebrating a birthday. We drank a little, got talking, and the holidays added words to the conversation. Everyone had something to say. By the time everyone shared their opinion and discussed the details of all our friends’ life situations, it was late. Someone remembered that tomorrow was Monday, not Saturday, as we’d thought. Everyone had to get up early for work. We quickly finished whatever was left, ate the rest of the cake, and went our separate ways home. Those who lived farther away took taxis. My best friend and I live in neighboring buildings not far from the birthday boy. So we walked home together. On the way, we ran into a gas station that had no problem selling us two small bottles of whiskey. We weren’t going to go home for a large bottle, were we?

We found a bench nearby, settled down on it, and drank a toast to each other. That was enough for another two hours of heartfelt conversation. We sat like that until three in the morning. I listened to the happy story of his and his wife’s love, which ended as soon as they got married. At least, that’s what the married man thinks. I didn’t really tell much, and honestly, there’s nothing to tell. And I didn’t want to talk about what I was planning. We were so relaxed, our bodies stuck to the bench. We didn’t want to move at all.

The alcohol aired out. Our bodies carried us home. They just went on their own. I don’t even remember how we said goodbye. I was so tired and sleepy then that, as I said, I forgot to activate the alarm clock. I woke up at half-past eight instead of half-past five. It would seem the difference is only three hours, but it changed the rest of my life. So, I wake up at eight-thirty, look at the clock. My eyes open so wide that my eyebrows jump. My heart switches from a leisurely beat to a gallop. I don’t know where I find the necessary strength. I’ve never gotten out of bed so easily and quickly.

I brush my teeth, wash my face with cold water, and eat a couple of gingerbread cookies on the go while I get dressed. I bolt out of the house. I literally bolt, slamming the door shut behind me, leaving the apartment keys on the inside. That’s not a big deal, of course—after the meeting I’m so late for, I can just call a locksmith and have the lock opened. That happens to a lot of people. It’s a common thing. Thanks to situations like these, locksmiths and other service people have jobs. Meanness’s Law takes care of all professions. No one cares that the lives of those at whose expense the lives of the repairmen improve are being ruined.

Yes, it all looks simple, but behind that door, along with the keys, is my briefcase, which holds all the documents for the upcoming meeting. And at that moment, another shot of adrenaline is injected into the existing amount in my body. Mixed with the alcohol in my blood, it makes jet fuel, throwing my whole body at the door. I smash into my own apartment with a crash. I find the briefcase, and hurry to the exit. Passing the mirror, I notice a torn sleeve on my jacket. I run to change. An unfamiliar sound rings out. The sound itself is quite familiar, but not for my apartment. Now a mangy stray cat lives with me. It moved in with all its fleas. I immediately pick a suitable name. Homebreaker for short. I don’t have time to get it out from under the sofa, so I leave it there.

I run out of the apartment and slam the door shut. It doesn’t latch. The lock flew off from the impact to the other end of the apartment. There’s absolutely no time left. It’s already nine, and the meeting is at nine-thirty. I won’t make it to the garage, I won’t be able to drop by my friend’s house as I promised, and I won’t take my trousers to the dry cleaner. Everything I planned this morning definitely won’t happen. I just hope I can at least make it to the meeting. At the very least, not be too late. What should I do about the door? The neighbors aren’t home, and there’s no time for a locksmith either. I rush back into the apartment. I find superglue in the nightstand. I pour the entire tube onto the joint and press hard. It should hold until the evening.

I grab the briefcase and run down the steps. I nearly knock over an old woman. I listen to a lot of “pleasant“ wishes following me. I wonder, does the fact that I turned back twice count as a common superstition or as the start of Meanness’s Law? I slam into the main entrance door. It’s always been open, but today some conscientious person closed it. I open it and run out into the street. My wristwatch ticks down the remaining twenty-five minutes. It’s about twenty minutes to work by metro and about seven minutes on foot. I’ll run it. I race towards the subway. Where did all these people come from? Why is there a rush hour so late? It’s never been like this. I push through the crowd. Strange, I seem to be moving with the flow, but it’s hard to get through, as if I’m moving against it. I reach the turnstile. My travel card is empty. Why today of all days?

I run to the nearest ticket office. There’s a queue. A machine stands alone to the side. I run up to it. It only takes coins, and I only have bills. My face flushes. I shout, asking for change. An old man answers. I give him twice the paper money that he gives me in coins. I don’t care. I buy one trip. I jump onto the escalator. I race up the left side. At the very bottom, a few people are crowded in front of me. The train car has just arrived. I should make it. The escalator breaks down. What the hell! People walk up lazily. Those in front of me disperse. I fly towards the train car. The doors close right in my face. I can’t take it—to the sound of the departing train, I swear at myself, fate, the escalator, the train car, and even the voice that announced the doors were closing, although I had an excellent chance to see it myself anyway.

I barely stop myself from throwing the briefcase at the station name. I wait for the next train. Why is it taking so long? Finally, it arrives. I jump into the nearest car and squeeze into a corner on the edge. A familiar voice announces the next station. The doors close, and then the most rushing person puts their foot in the way. Of course, the door opens again, and he can’t squeeze through. The door closes, and we leave without him. Five stations drag on for an eternity. The next one is mine. The tunnel lights flash past. The wires stretch in waves. I shake my knee, I’m nervous, ready to bite all my nails off. Who would be surprised? Not me. The train stops in the tunnel. The voice announces that due to a malfunction on the line, traffic is delayed. They ask us to wait five minutes.

I have seven minutes left. We stand for five minutes, and we’ll ride for three minutes. I’m already late, and then there’s another five minutes of running. The five minutes of standing are horribly long. Even the internet doesn’t cheer me up now. I can’t call—there’s no signal. There’s no point in asking someone for a phone. The numbers are on my turned-off phone. It ran out of battery yesterday, I put it on charge, but the charger turned out to be unplugged. We stood for nine minutes. I’m hopelessly late for the place where I should have been fifteen minutes before the appointed time. My station. My count is minus six minutes.

The moving escalator is completely full, and the queue for it is such that it seems passengers from all over the city are in one place at one time. I run up the stationary escalator. My legs tire on the last step. I don’t lift my left foot high enough, hook the toe of my shoe on the step, and fall with my right leg onto the corner of the step. I’ve always been afraid of that. I’d dreadfully imagined how much it would hurt. I have to say, I was wrong in my assumptions. It hurts much more. I get up. A bloody knee is visible through the right trouser leg. A station attendant runs up, offering to treat the wound. No time. I politely refuse. I run towards the exit.

Minus ten minutes. My left leg cramps up. I fight the sharp pain. I burst towards the entrance of the building. I run like a wounded rabbit. I reach the building at minus fifteen minutes. The revolving doors are usually broken, but today they’re working. The only good news today. I jump into the transparent cylinder. My briefcase doesn’t keep up with me and remains in the next compartment. The handle is in my hand. I get out and snatch the briefcase. I try to reattach the handle as I go. I pass through the turnstile. The key doesn’t work. On the third try, the guard lets me through. I run to the elevator. No, it’s too risky—I don’t need to get stuck. I take the stairs. The clock reads minus eighteen. It’s so smoky that my head is spinning from the fumes and my throat is scratchy.

I reach the fifth floor at minus twenty-one minutes. I run to the meeting room. The door opens in front of me at minus twenty-two minutes. Company employees walk out to meet me. Among them is a man in a grey suit and tie, who brushes my arm; the briefcase falls to the floor and opens. Someone got hot during the meeting, so they opened the window. All my papers fly around the office as soon as I enter after the briefcase. Some of the documents fly out the window—I didn’t even have to make paper airplanes. That’s not so important anymore. No one is left in the meeting room of the people for whom these papers were prepared. That man in the grey suit was the last one out. And he was supposed to become my new boss.

The documents flying in the sky were my ticket to a job in the office on the floor above mine. We remained strangers, and I can completely forget about the promotion. I sit down on a chair by the open window. It’s nice outside. It’s cool, but fresh. My face is so hot that this coolness is exactly what I need right now. I look at the high-rise buildings across the street. Everything is as it always is there. People work, solve problems, and create new ones, only to immediately start solving them. I used to do that, too. Now, I won’t be allowed to create problems, let alone solve them. The sheets of my report float in the air, like little flat clouds. Everyone is so busy that only I look at them.

Five minutes later, after silently contemplating the fall of my career in the form of disciplinary reports, a cleaner walks in. We exchange sad smiles. I immediately assure her that I’ll clean up all the papers from the floor. The understanding woman doesn’t scold me. With kindness, she helps me gather the flat clouds. I put everything back in the case. Bidding her farewell, I leave. Without thinking much, I head to the elevator. I step in and immediately press the button for the second floor. Why the second? It’s simple. That’s where our accounting department is. Closer to the third floor, a rather expected event happens. The elevator gets stuck. I don’t press the buttons, as I always used to. I leave my rescue to chance. I sit on the floor, placing the case far away from me. It won’t be needed now.

The light goes out. Along with it, the stainless steel walls of the room where my thoughts are concentrated stop shining. It becomes as dark in my head as it is in the elevator. For the first couple of minutes, I recall entering the conference room, the scattered report, the buildings across the street. I was so hopelessly late that I didn’t even get nervous or worry about the failures that had accompanied me all the way here and ultimately led me to a stuck elevator. I can’t even quit now until the doors open.

The phosphorescent hands on my watch glow. I can’t look at the watch anymore. I unfasten the strap, take the watch off, and put it in my jacket pocket. I straighten my legs, which were previously bent at the knees. I fully relax. Now I won’t be upset even if the cable snaps. And yet, I used to worry about a bit of fluff on my jacket. A voice, distorted by static, is audible from the speaker. At first, I thought I’d imagined it.

“Hello, is anyone in there?” the speaker asks again.

“Yes,” I reply calmly.

“If you are, press the button at the bottom,” the voice prompts. Either I just didn’t think of it, or I didn’t want anyone to know about me.

“I’m here,” I say, pressing the dispatcher call button. I’ve looked at it so often during every elevator ride that I find it immediately.

“How are you doing in there?” the voice asks with slight concern.

“Alive, I think,” I answer with a touch of irony.

“That’s good,” I can hear that he’s speaking with a smile. “Just don’t worry, I’ll get you out soon.”

“I’m perfectly calm, don’t rush. Finish your bun and tea and come over, I’ll wait for you here.”

“How do you know about the bun and tea?” the dispatcher asks, surprised.

“I guessed,” I now feel indifferent about everything.

“Is this a joke?” he asks suspiciously.

“I don’t think so,” I reply, also with a smile.

“Alright then, I’ll be there soon.”

“No rush.”

Another five minutes pass before my savior arrives. During this time, I seriously wonder how I knew about the bun and tea, although it’s not hard to guess. Nonsense. The elevator door opens. The cold light of the hall floods the car, momentarily blinding me. I pick up the case and stand up. The guy holds the doors while I step out. We walk towards the stairs together, without exchanging a word, except for my thanks the moment the elevator opened.

“How did you know about the bun and tea?” the elevator technician asks, unable to resist his nagging curiosity.

“I don’t know myself,” I honestly admit. “When I heard your voice, I saw a rough image of your appearance in my imagination. And next to you stood a cup of black tea and a raisin bun,” I explain calmly.

“Okay, I can believe the bun and tea part is a simple coincidence; many of us take a break like that. But how did you guess it was a raisin bun?”

“Doesn’t everyone eat those?”

“Only me on our floor. I checked,” the guy adds firmly, noticing my doubt.

“Then that’s certainly odd,” I say with a smile, scratching the back of my head. “But not vital.”

We step onto the staircase together. I thank the elevator technician once more for the rescue. We go our separate ways. The guy heads up to his area, and I descend the steps. It’s interesting: an elevator technician, yet he always takes the stairs. He must know how unreliable elevators can be. Or he just likes walking up and down the stairs. It’s only a short distance to the second floor. There’s the accounting department door. I try to open it. It’s locked. Fine, I’ll come in especially early tomorrow morning to quit. I go down to the first floor and exit, as usual, through the glass cylinder entrance. Now I don’t have to rush home. Wait, stop, I should rush. I have Home sitting under the couch there, if he hasn’t run away yet. I hurry to the subway again.

I make it into the first car just in time. The door slides shut immediately behind me. I reach my station without any trouble. I step out of the car. There are practically no people. I make my way to the surface. I breathe in the living air of the city streets. The subway is like another world. The air is different there, and the people are all different. I walk along the dusty sidewalk to my house. The entrance door is open. I go upstairs. The door to the apartment is still glued shut. I try to open it. The glue, it turns out, is strong. I have to kick it in again. This time, I do not spare my shoes. I strike the door with full force. The door swings open as if nothing had happened.

Homebreaker is sitting in the hallway, greeting me like the master of the house. He is not scared, nor is he surprised by my appearance. He does not even flick an ear. To be honest, I thought thieves would open the door and the cat would run away.

I look at my new friend with a smile. I do not feel like being angry or worrying about small things anymore. Especially since he will clearly be better off here than on the street. And he will cheer me up while I do not have a job. And I will not have a job for a long time. I need to call a handyman and get Homebreaker sorted. I put my completely dead phone on charge and call the locksmith. We agree that he will come by in a couple of hours.

I change my clothes, pick up the unsuspecting Homebreaker, carry him to the bathroom, and stroke him while the water runs. Just in case, I wrap a towel around my arms. So he cannot scratch me in a fit of rage when I wash him. It may seem strange, but Home enjoys the bathing. He only used to take cold showers in the rain. Warm water in a cozy bath is much nicer. I dry him with a hairdryer. I kill the stubborn fleas. Some slip away from me. I will have to buy special shampoo while I have the money.

After a while, the locksmith arrives with a toolbox. We discuss the lock and decide to install a new, inexpensive one. I will have to economize now. I pay for the work and lock the door with the new lock. It closes stiffly because of the glue. I do not feel like cleaning the frame right now. And it is not necessary. There will be no drafts.

I make lunch with what I have. I do not remember exactly what I have, but it does not matter. I feed Homebreaker and I eat myself. What is more, Home sits next to me on a chair, eats from the table, from the plate, the same food as mine. I do not want to humiliate my new friend with food from the floor.

Something tells me he will be my only friend for the near future. After all, who else needs a loser man my age? For some, I am young, but for myself, I am unsuccessfully old at thirty-two. I wonder, do women sense the law of sod in men’s blood? Is that why everyone I try to socialize with shuns me? Or do they sense the loser in me? They are naturally programmed to have a feel for winners. They sense everything.

I wash the dishes after lunch. Even when I do not feel like it and do not want to wash them, I wash them anyway. Dirty dishes in the sink irritate me. It is as if they follow me around the apartment and whisper in my ear to remind me of themselves. With each reminder, it becomes more unpleasant, as if a mountain of dishes is growing and accumulating a layer of dirt, even if I have only left two plates unwashed.

I settle down on the sofa; Home jumps up and sits beside me. I place a stool in front of us, put the laptop on it, and turn on the series I have long wanted to watch but have not had time for because of work. Luckily, I immediately find the first episode of the first season. I lean back against the sofa. I relax, for the first time today.

After a few minutes of the episode, Homebreaker gets nervous. The laptop clicks, and the screen goes dark. I just sigh heavily. We sit there for about five minutes. We calmly stare at the black glossy screen, looking at our reflections. Out of curiosity, I press the power button. Nothing. I try holding it for fifteen seconds. Nothing. I try all the key combinations I know. Zero. Home just glances at me and the computer. I close the laptop lid, lean back against the sofa again, and stroke Homebreaker.

He is purring. At least his purr box is not broken. Silence. It cannot be! Has it broken down after all? I carefully look into his eyes. He is asleep. Well, at least there is that. I continue stroking him to calm down. It does not seem to bother him. I stroke him and think about what to do next. Tomorrow, I will have to take the laptop in for repair. Then I remember that tomorrow is a holiday and they are closed. I did not get a chance to check the time on the computer. The phone, I realize, has stopped charging, completely died, and turned off. At least I managed to call the locksmith.

The sun has passed midday. It is roughly two o’clock now. It has come to this—I am telling the time by the sun. What can you do, at least I have a way. Although, why do I need to know the time right now? Only to quit my job. Tomorrow is a day off. I cannot quit my job. And right now, I can take a nap. I lie down next to Homebreaker. It is good that the pillow is always here. After a few thoughts about work and unrealized dreams of promotion, I fall into a deep sleep.

Sleep flies by unnoticed. I wake up later than Homebreaker. He’s already somewhere, walking around, exploring the apartment. I lie there, thinking of nothing. I get up and go to the kitchen. I move as if in a fog after a daytime nap. I turn on the kettle. And here comes Home. His face is very calm. He’s obviously relieved himself somewhere. Of course, I didn’t buy him a litter box. The kettle boils. I brew tea in my only mug. I go to look for the source of the problem. Well, sure enough, he doesn’t have his own litter box, so he went in mine. I don’t scold him much. My fault. I clean everything up in a couple of minutes. Home watches with understanding. There is no shame or remorse in his gaze. He always has a proud look, like a true nobleman.

We return to the kitchen together. I brewed the tea but didn’t put the kettle back. I put the kettle down. It misses its spot, and the stand slides toward the edge of the microwave. The kettle falls. Boiling water splashes out through the open lid. While I try to catch the kettle, my right hand bumps a glass, which I have no idea why it’s standing here. In a fraction of a second, I have five burns, a bruise on my arm, and a broken, gorgeous tall glass. It’s a good thing the kettle wasn’t full. I put it back in place. I don’t wipe up the water; right now, I’m too angry at myself and the situation. I take a burn ointment out of the fridge and rub the reddened spots. It’s strange that I even have this ointment, as I’m not a fan of medicine.

I sit down to drink my tea. Home is next to me on the sofa. It’s a good thing he wasn’t hit by the boiling water. It clearly would’ve hurt him more. From anger and surprise, I didn’t feel anything, at least not right away, but now it’s starting to sting. I sit and wonder what else bad could happen. Then it hits me that anything could happen. I calmly finish my tea. I take a sponge and wipe up the cooled water. I remember just in time that there might be shards of glass there. There are. I carefully wring out the sponge and throw it into the trash can. Well, we’ve had tea, and we’ve cleaned up the scene of the accident. Now I can go get a litter box, and I’ll buy some shampoo for Homebreaker while I’m at it. I get dressed and calmly leave. Everything is as usual, only I don’t look in the mirror, as I used to. I don’t want to see my gloomy face. I tightly close the door behind me. I walk away from the darkness.

Now it doesn’t matter if the entrance door is open or closed, or if someone is blocking the way out or not. I’m not rushing now, and when I’m not rushing, nothing gets in the way. Maybe nothing gets in the way when I am rushing either; maybe it’s just that my attitude toward everything becomes heightened and feels like spikes under my tires. Speaking of tires. I still haven’t picked up the car, haven’t visited my friend before work, and haven’t taken the trousers to the dry cleaner after Sunday night. They got quite stained at the birthday party. Some drunk girl dropped a colorful cocktail on my light-colored trousers and didn’t even notice. It’s good that it’s just a material thing. Now I need to sort Homebreaker out.

I walk on the shady side. I’m afraid of melting under the scorching summer sun. It’s been a long time since I was outside at this hour. Usually, I’d be sitting at work, and on weekends, I’d sleep until the evening. As I walk down the street and look at the exhausted office workers and the cheerful free people, I unknowingly approach the pet store. I noticed it when I was stuck in traffic in my car. I go in. The door rings with high tones.

A stack of litter boxes stands right by the cash register. The parrots in the cages are shrieking so loudly here. The rabbits are the quietest of all. There’s practically no space. Everything is covered with bags of animal feed. Toys, leashes, and nets hang between the aquariums. I choose a shampoo. The saleswoman asks the kitten’s age. I say about seven years. The saleswomen laugh. I pay and leave with my purchases.

The heat of the warmed streets blasts my face. I need to drop by my friend’s place; he has the day off today. I walk a couple more blocks. His wife opens the door and smiles, telling me that her husband is in the garage. It’s in the next courtyard. I go there. From the only open garage, shouts and curses can be heard, along with the clang of wrenches thrown onto the concrete floor.

“A new repair technology?” I joke with my friend.

“A strong word finds a solution for everything. Better than any technology!” Emjay answers proudly.

“Are you still tormenting the old lady?”

“Hey, watch what you say!” Emjay protests. “Where do you see an old lady? She’s only turning twenty!”

“Yes, you’re right, still very young,” we laugh, knowing the state of that car.

“And what brings you here?” my friend asks, momentarily distracted from the repairs.

“We agreed to meet yesterday. Did you forget?” I remind him of something I myself barely remembered.

“Ah, yes! Sorry,” Emjay holds his head. “My head still aches from yesterday. Remind me, what did we agree to meet for?”

“I don’t remember myself anymore,” I confess, smiling.

“Well, it happens,” he shrugs, not particularly bothered.

“So now it turns out we just met friendly-like.”

“Seems so,” he smiles and goes back to the engine. The phone rings.

“That’s not mine!” I immediately respond.

“Mine,” Emjay straightens up. “Could you hand it to me, please? It’s in the bag, in the right pocket.”

“Here you go,” I carefully hand him the phone, knowing how unlucky I sometimes am with my own clumsiness.

“Thanks,” he talks to his wife about family matters. “Could you put it back, please,” he asks after discussing the issues.

“Sure,” I take the phone, gazing at the wallpaper.

“What are you thinking about?” Emjay notices.

“I’m looking at the beauty on your wallpaper, and I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“What’s there?” my friend didn’t even think that the view on the screen was not just a photo but a real place somewhere far away.

“A quiet morning. Calm water, mountains, a boat getting ready to set sail.”

“Interesting,” Emjay straightens up and walks over to me. “I didn’t even notice,” we look at the phone screen together. “It wouldn’t be bad to take off there,” he sighs wistfully. “Family,” he adds, returning to the engine.

“You know, that’s an idea,” I pick up the thought with enthusiasm.

“And did you buy that for the trip?”

“What?” I ask in bewilderment, looking at the bags. “I forgot about Homebreaker!”

“A burglar broke into your place?” Emjay asks seriously. “And you bought shampoo and a litter box for him,” my friend laughs.

“A cat broke into my place and stayed to live,” I explain the situation with a smile.

“Congratulations on the pet!” Emjay smirks.

“Thanks,” and I’m genuinely glad that I now have Home.

“So, instead of a family, you decided to make a cat your anchor? Didn’t you have enough work?”

“I quit,” and I only remember that myself right now.

“What? Why?” Such news cannot leave Emjay indifferent.

“I’m quitting. I missed out on the promotion, and without it, I have no desire to work at that company,” I try to explain, but it sounds somewhat frivolous.

“Then I get it. And what do you plan to do?”

“Set a wallpaper for life, not for a phone,” I try to bring the conversation back to a smile.

“In what sense?”

“I’m going there,” I point to the phone wallpaper.

“And what will you do with the burglar?” Emjay reminds me of the pet, guessing that I’ll ask him to look after the cat.

“Homebreaker,” I correct him with respect for my new friend in conversation with my old one.

“Yeah, Homebreaker. A great name, by the way, with humor,” Emjay approves.

“Yes, thanks, it just came to me.”

“So, what have you decided to do with him?”

“I’m taking him with me.”

“Abroad?” Emjay is surprised, knowing how complicated that is.

“Why not?” I try not to fear the upcoming difficulties.

“Do you realize how many certificates and vaccinations you’ll need?”

“I can guess. I can’t just leave him here.”

“Well, no, you won’t abandon the cat,” he scratches the back of his head again.

“Alright, I’m going. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“Always happy to help. Tell me later how everything went,” Emjay asks with interest.

“Definitely! You’ll be the first I tell everything to.”

“Well, see you, good luck!” Emjay dives back to the engine.

“Good luck to you too,” I smile in response, putting the phone back.

I return to the pet store. I buy a special carrier for Home. I find out what vaccinations are needed. It turns out to be quite a lot. I return home. I forgot to take the trousers to the dry cleaner again. Homebreaker greets me more warmly, sniffing the purchases, looking at the carrier with suspicion. I understand. I hide it; it’s not time yet. I call a familiar veterinarian, a referral from my neighbor. We went to school together. We arrange for tomorrow. They say he’s booked a month in advance. Evening is coming. I forgot to take the computer for repair along with the phone. Now I don’t feel like dealing with them. I turn on the light in my room and look through all the books that have been standing on the shelves for twenty years or more. I stop at a collection of short stories.

We lie down on the bed. I read stories to Home, and he purrs for me. So loudly; he’s accumulated tenderness over the years of street life where it wasn’t needed. I read, and everywhere in the stories, it’s about travel. Only a cat is never mentioned. Well, not everything in stories is like in life, and not everything in life is like in stories. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s completely dark outside. Time for bed. I go to the shower. Along with the water, the hopes for a promotion and future plans, the anger at the unfortunate turn of events, the disappointment in my own life, and everything that happened before today, including the day itself, all wash away. I hope nothing terrible will happen from accidentally washing my hair with Homebreaker’s shampoo. At least I won’t have fleas.

I come out of the bathroom. I put on clean sheets. A clean slate in life should start with a clean bed and clean dreams. As soon as I lie down, Homebreaker is right there. I can’t exactly kick him out. I even have a clean cat at the start of my clean slate. It’s good that this day is over. I fall asleep immediately; I don’t even have time to listen to Home’s purring. I’m sure he fell asleep right away, too. I wake up a couple of times during the night when the fur tickles me in an unfamiliar way. I carefully stroke his soft fur and fall back asleep.

CHAPTER 5

Morning arrives unnoticed. The first time I wake up is from a cat’s paws kneading my ribs. There’s no time to linger in bed. I have to go to the vet. I get up and make breakfast for two. We eat together. I go into the shower and shave. I get myself ready and gather up Homebreaker. I pick him up, taking the carrier with me. I don’t want to shove him into a cage without a special need. We walk over to the parking lot a couple of blocks from my house. The auto mechanic who is fixing my car parks his car here. I ride with him to the workshop.

Finally, I pick up my car. I settle Homebreaker into the passenger seat. We drive. It’s a good thing we left early; we manage to get ahead of the traffic. This vet has his own clinic. Good for him, he’s made a name for himself. I remember when he used to work in a small office as a vet assistant. Now he’s the best in the city. Strange, the door to the clinic is closed. I knock and we wait. There isn’t even a security guard. Right, today is a holiday, a day off. Maybe he accidentally scheduled me for today. But here he is himself.

“Hello!” Raymond smiles kindly, walking up to us. He hugs me like an old friend.

“Hello, long time no see, about fifteen years.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Raymond muses, counting.

“Did you accidentally schedule me for today?”

“I don’t do things like that by accident.”

“But today’s a day off.”

“I don’t have a free minute on working days,” he shares in a tired voice, opening the door.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“I’m actually glad you called. We haven’t seen each other in so long. You’re the only one left from the past.”

“I understand, I’m in the same situation.” We enter the clinic. Raymond locks the door from the inside so no one realizes they can come in for an appointment. We go up to the second floor. He sees us right in his office. Everything necessary is here.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Raymond asks, starting the examination.

“Homebreaker,” I answer seriously, with a smile.

“Interesting name. You probably didn’t meet under simple circumstances,” he guesses, smiling. “Well, tell me, how are you living?”

“Slowly but surely. I lost my job, and everything that could break, broke. Just fixed the car, though. Found a new friend.”

“So he’s new to you?” he clarifies, looking closely.

“Only a day. He’s a stray.”

“It shows. A fighter,” Raymond acknowledges, looking into Home’s eyes.

“A confident character. How is his health?” That’s all that worries me now.

“You know, for a street cat his age, it’s excellent. We’ll give him a couple of shots, and then he’ll be practically new.”

“Will it hurt?” I worry as if he were a child.

“I think after the streets, he won’t even notice. I take it you’re planning to travel somewhere with him?” Raymond guesses.

“Yeah, I want to take a trip. Somewhere to the east.”

“That’s a good idea. And where are you getting the money for the journey?”

“Saved up a bit over the years of working.”

“Look at you, managing to save,” Raymond grins.

“I tried,” I reply with a smile.

“What are you going to do afterwards?”

“When I get back, I’ll see how things are.”

“Don’t hesitate to come by if you need anything. I’ll set you up at the clinic.”

“I don’t have a veterinary degree.”

“We have enough doctors. I need an administrator; the current one is going on maternity leave soon.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the offer.”

“I’d be happy to see you here.”

“And how are you doing?” I ask Raymond, as if I can’t see how well things are going.

“Not bad,” Raymond sighs.

“Why so glum?”

“I’m tired of this life. I have to manage everything everywhere, direct everyone, advise everyone, and still keep up with my own work. That’s how I get worn out.”

“You don’t just need an administrator; you need a clinic manager.”

“Do you think someone could handle it?” Raymond looks at me skeptically.

“You manage it. Look among your acquaintances, put out an advertisement.”

“I don’t trust strangers. The clinic is everything to me. I can’t entrust what’s most precious to strangers.”

“That’s right,” Raymond is absolutely correct about that.

“Listen! Why don’t you become my deputy and assistant?” he happily suggests, seeing something brilliant in his own proposal.

“Do you think I can handle it? Homebreaker is my first pet. And here, you need to be obsessed with animals.”

“That’s not a mandatory condition for employment,” Raymond grins.

“I promise to think about it,” I say seriously and honestly.

“You absolutely must think about it,” the outstanding veterinarian says seriously. “That’s it!”

“That’s it? You’re done already?” I’m surprised and happy that everything went so quickly.

“Yes. There were only a few shots needed. Now I’ll write you the certificates and prepare a passport for Homebreaker. It won’t take long.”

“Don’t rush, I’ll wait,” I stroke Home, looking around the office. “I didn’t think you could even make a passport.”

“I can do a lot of things,” Raymond smiles contentedly. “Here you go!” he hands over the necessary documents.

“How much do I owe?” I reach for my money.

“It’s too expensive to take that much money from an old acquaintance,” Raymond laughs, pushing my wallet away.

“What are you doing? I have money. Don’t worry about me being fired.”

“I believe you,” Raymond smiles. “Buy Homebreaker a ticket. Then you can show me photos from the trip.”

“Alright, thank you so much!”

“Come on, I’ll see you out,” we go down to the first floor. Raymond opens the door. “I was genuinely happy to see you both.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I reply sincerely. Homebreaker also responds. “Thank you again.”

“Happy to help. You definitely think about my offer.”

“I will, don’t doubt it.”

“Excellent! I’ll be waiting for you in my office as soon as you get back.”

“Great, see you then!” We hug and shake hands. Raymond closes the door and goes to finish his work.

Homebreaker and I walk down the street to the nearest bench. We sit down. Now all we need to do is buy tickets. A little later. For now, we just need to sit and breathe the fresh air after the clinic, even if it’s a veterinary one. There’s so much pain there. Sometimes animals suffer more than people. Energy accumulates in the walls of buildings. Whether you like it or not, you become part of that pain. We need the wind to blow all the negativity of suffering and pain out of us. People walk past, giving us strange looks because Homebreaker and I are sitting almost identically on the bench. We brought a little sausage with us. We have a snack. Right, we’ve rested after a rough start to the day; now we can calmly go get the tickets.

I know one travel agency; a former employee recommended it. He often goes abroad for vacation. He’s been everywhere. He’s traveled almost the entire world. I pick Home up, and we walk unhurriedly toward the car. The empty carrier swings in my hand. We are a little late. Right in front of us, a man in uniform walks by and writes a ticket for parking in the wrong place. How did I miss the sign? Maybe because it is hidden in the leaves of the tree. Oh well. We get in the car and drive through the bank to the agency. We pay the fine on the way. There is practically no line. We are off to get the tickets. Fifteen minutes through light traffic, and we are there.

I take Homebreaker with me. It’s good they let us in without the carrier. My heart aches when I think I will have to shove my friend into a cage. They greet us with a sweet smile. They offer many tours. We only buy tickets; we will travel freely. Together, we choose China. Why there, specifically, I still don’t know. We leave the agency. We are happy with the tickets. Direct flights, with a discount. It would be a sin not to take advantage of this luck.

We are walking calmly toward the car. A skateboarder crashes into us. Home latches onto me with all his claws, and I am only wearing a T-shirt. In short, I feel the full impact. I barely manage to stay on my feet, but the kid cannot stop himself. I offer him my hand. You can tell he has pride, but he gives me his hand in return. He admits he is wrong. We were standing on the sidewalk, and he was speeding from a left turn, failing to account for an obstacle on the right.

“You okay?” I ask with a smile, helping him stand up.

“I think so,” the guy answers uncertainly, looking at the scrapes on his hands. He is not wearing a single pad. He should at least have taken an icon with him, like car drivers do.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes,” the accidental guy answers more confidently this time.

“That’s great then.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you, and then I lost control.”

“It’s no big deal. It can happen to anyone.”

“Is the kitty alright?” the guy asks, gently petting Home.

“Don’t worry, he’s tougher than us. Do you live far?” I ask, noticing that the guy’s knee is scraped, just like mine after falling on the escalator.

“Quite far,” he reflects heavily, imagining the road home.

“What were you doing here?”

“I was visiting friends; we were skating together.”

“Let me give you a ride,” I offer out of politeness.

“No, that’s alright, I’ll take the bus.”

“Do you have money for the bus?”

“Money?” he asks back, checking his pockets.

“Let’s go, if you aren’t afraid,” I open the car’s passenger door.

“I’m not afraid,” the guy answers, summoning all his courage.

“Then hop in and take Homebreaker; he likes riding up front.”

“Alright,” the guy happily takes Home in his arms. I toss the carrier onto the back seat.

“He has an interesting name.”

“Did you mean strange?”

“Well, yeah, probably. Why did you name him that?”

“This cheeky guy broke into my house this morning. More brazen than any thief. And thieves who break into houses are called house-breakers. One of them is sitting right in front of you.”

“Did he steal something from you?”

“Yes, my loneliness,” I answer with a smirk.

“Now I see. He earned it,” he smiles, stroking Home, who is attentively watching the road.

“What’s your name?” I ask, glancing at my passenger.

“Brian,” the guy answers simply.

“Where are we going, Brian?”

“How did you drive before without knowing the way?”

“One-way street; I had no choice. There’s an intersection ahead; pick your path.”

“We need to go left,” the guy points in the necessary direction.

“As you command,” I wait for the right traffic light signal and turn left, as requested. The road is almost empty. Everyone is sleeping today.

“Are you sure you aren’t in a hurry anywhere?”

“What do I have to rush for?”

“Your own business,” the guy looks at the back seat, where my work papers are lying.

“I don’t have any business anymore,” I answer calmly, feeling the lightness of the phrase.

“How do you live?” Brian asks, surprised.

“Somehow, I live.”

“I mean, why? If you aren’t doing anything, you aren’t living; you’re just existing.”

“You are a smart kid. I’m going through a phase in my life.”

“You quit your job?”

“Yes, how did you guess?”

“A lot of people are quitting their jobs now, and even more are being fired.”

“That’s true,” he is telling the truth. He is observant.

“And how much did they pay for you to leave?”

“They haven’t paid anything yet,” I somehow had not thought about the money.

“Then they won’t pay.”

“No, that’s not it. I haven’t officially settled up with the company yet.”

“Then why do you say you quit?”

“Because I firmly decided to.”

“Where did that resolve come from?”

“I got tired of working for years just for a promotion, and then missing every chance to climb the career ladder. Every day, month, year, it’s the same thing. It’s like Meanness’s Law. The harder you push, the less you accomplish.”

“I totally understand,” the guy says with a heavy sigh.

“How can you understand?” I conceal my disbelief at his words.

“It’s not hard. It’s the same in school. The same thing every day. Every year you wait for a promotion, meaning moving to the next grade, but it doesn’t happen.”

“So, you were held back?”

“A few times.”

“How come?”

“Life sucks you in, takes over your mind, and then it’s hard to go back to the routine.”

“Well, maybe you should be doing homework instead of skating?”

“Nah. I like being the oldest in the class.”

“Maybe it’s good that you found yourself in that. What grade are you in now?”

“I’ve been a graduating senior for two years.”

“I wouldn’t be able to stay in school that long, especially being on the verge of freedom.”

“I don’t stay,” the guy answers spiritedly.

“What do you mean?”

“I skip so much that the teachers put an absence mark in the register out of habit, even when I am sitting right in front of them.”

“Yeah, you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself.”

“We’re here,” Brian prompts, looking out the window.

“I didn’t even notice we drove five kilometers.”

“A little more than that,” the guy corrects.

“And you cover that distance round trip on a skateboard?”

“Yes, while I have the time.”

“And soon you might not?”

“Time is unpredictable. Today you have too much of it, and tomorrow none at all.”

“Yes, that’s true. Are you actually okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Maybe buy something at the pharmacy?”

“No need, I’ve been worse,” the guy smiles. “Bye, Homebreaker,” he strokes the cat goodbye.

Home says goodbye with a single sound. With a soft slam of the door, the truant disappears into the courtyards. We stand by the sidewalk for a little longer. The guy reminded me that time can run out at any moment. For now, I have plenty of it. I need to manage to use it for pleasure. I can’t always be serious, working, worrying, solving problems, and creating new ones with every passing moment. I look at the courtyards. There are hundreds of kids just like him there. They aren’t held back. Everyone does everything on time, but not everyone understands that doing something on time doesn’t necessarily mean succeeding.