The Ninth Inning of Surveillance

The cat landed softly on the fire escape, her black fur merging with the night. Juniper—named before the divorce, when naming pets after trees still felt like something we did—blinked yellow eyes at me and meowed. The sound was demanding, pathetic. Like my life.

I slid the window open. She trotted in, tail high, heading straight for her bowl. I followed her movement, then let my gaze drift upward to the apartment across the alley. Fourth floor, lights on. Sarah's place.

I'd become something else since she left. Not quite a spy, but something adjacent—professional voyeur of a life I used to inhabit. I knew her new routine better than I'd ever known my own. Tuesday nights: wine with friends. Wednesdays: yoga livestream at 7, silhouette visible through the sheer curtains. Thursdays: him. The man who wasn't me, moving through her apartment like he belonged there, which I supposed he did now.

A baseball game murmured from my television, muted. The Cardinals were down by three in the eighth. I'd left the sound off because sometimes, when the apartment across the alley got too quiet, I'd hear things I didn't want to hear. Laughter, or the particular creak of her mattress. Some sounds were better left imagined.

Juniper rubbed against my leg, purring. At least she hadn't left. Animals were loyal like that, or maybe just实用. I fed her and went back to the window.

Sarah was alone tonight. She stood at her window, looking out, and for a terrifying second I thought she might see me—me, the spy who'd forgotten the first rule of surveillance: never fall in love with the target. But she was just looking through me, past me, at something else. The moon, maybe. Or nothing at all.

The baseball game went to commercial. A ticker scrolled across the bottom: FINAL SCORES. I'd missed three innings just standing here, watching her watch nothing.

Juniper jumped onto the windowsill, blocking my view. She looked up at me, then turned her back to the window, tail twitching. Even the cat was judging me.

"Yeah," I said to her. "I know."

I pulled the blinds down and turned off the TV. The apartment went dark. Some games, you have to know when to stop watching.