i think a former owner of my apartment had a cat that died, because last night all i could dream about was hunting down this ghostly cat that kept breaking in to my apartment. i had to grab it by the scruff and lead it out to the exterior, to release it there, angry and hissing and biting and scraping at me the whole time. turn my back for a second, it slips back in. hiding under the bed, i have to use a broom to drag it out, hissing and swiping.
a man is outside, at my front door. it’s his cat. he’s a dusky man, southeast asian with a moustache. he has his arms folded. he tells me my door is open, and that’s how the cat is getting in. it’s my fault.
i try to explain to him that ghosts walk through doors. i’ll have to destroy my door and replace it with another. that way, i could have the ghost of a door to close.
that’s how you keep ghosts out. destroy the house and rebuild it, so there is a ghost of a house, and the windows will shut and the doors will lock, and only the tiniest souls of roaches and ants will ever slip through the cracks in the mortaring.