“April?” I call. The apartment is unusually dark, not even a single light on. She’s probably asleep.
From memory alone, I make my way to the crib. “Hi. Sorry Daddy’s so late today.”
May coos, her hands outstretched towards me. She’s pushier than usual, demanding a place in my arms. “Alright, alright. Come here, you.”
I look down. “I don’t have any more arms. Go bother April.”
Great. The security cat’s acting weird, too. I go to corral him, but—
“Get back here,” I bark.
But he slips out onto the balcony.
Goddammit. If this mangy cat leaps from fifty floors chasing a butterfly, April will never let me hear the end of it. They say cats have nine lives, but I’m not sure how many this old bastard’s got left.
I part the curtains. I step out into the balcony, eyes adjusting to the skylin
