others handle fixers. I found it snapped last night, doing my rounds on my way to bed and coma. Maybe the cat was getting anxious and discovered a way to lever the catch. He’s a trickster. He wants to get out with the midnight prowlers and rough guys, the ones that screech and yowl in alleyway standoffs and azalea ambuscades. But he’s not beefy or scuffed-up with experience and I try to keep him in when Night comes walking by. Maybe he looped a paw around the catch and snapped it free, intent on busting out. But he’s got his alibi sorted when I pop down for a screwdriver and find him heavy-kipping on the sofa. Things just break. Things suffer unseen pressures. What looks solid can be just about to shear.