Everyone In LA is an REDACTED by Sarah Fuller

Author:Sarah Fuller [Fuller, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2018-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

My Neighbors Can’t Hear Me Scream

Because I own a cat, approximately twenty percent of men automatically disqualify me on the dating app. Apparently, loving an animal that is distant and stingy with its affection reflects on my character. I think that getting a dog would normalize this effect, but I haven’t figured out which one of my friends’ Labradoodles I’m stealing yet. And I’d have to dye the dog’s fur, so my friend doesn’t recognize that it’s their animal when we’re at the park.

With a sad face, one of the old guys will say, “That dog looks a lot like Cocoa.”

Because I’ll not have completed the training to desensitize the animal to its old name, it might look up at its old owner.

“Yeah, well this dog is pink, not cocoa-colored. Besides, its name is Zuma because I named it after a famous literary character.”

“Oh, what book is the character Zuma from?” the guy will ask.

I’ll gawk at him in offense. “It’s from one of mine, duh.”

When I got the cat for Eleanor, I told her that he had to be named after a literary character.

“That’s the rule,” I stated firmly.

“But I wanted to name him ‘Twilight Sparkle’ or ‘Princess Celestia’,” she said, referencing My Little Pony.

I shook my head. “Those are mouthfuls, and he’s no princess,” I said, looking down at the black and white kitten who only weighed two pounds. I’d gotten him from the animal shelter, unlike my asshole neighbors who got their dogs from breeders. Hadn’t they listened to Bob Barker? Spay and neuter your pet to control the pet population, don’t breed a bunch of animals so that mutts congest the animal shelters.

“I always name my animals after literary characters,” I explained to Eleanor. “I’ve had Gatsby, Huxley, and Ginny. This little guy will be named after a famous character like Harry or Finley.”

“I know that Harry is from Harry Potter,” Eleanor began, “but where does Finley come from?”

I gawked at my child in offense. “Have you not read any of my books?”

She shook her head. “I’m only five years old.”

I rolled my eyes. Readers always had excuses. “Finley is an acrobat in one of my series.”

The kitten, who’d only cost me five dollars—not three thousand—jumped out of Eleanor’s arms and climbed up my drapes.

I raced over, yelling as he clawed up the once pristine fabric.

There was also a real safety issue with him being on the drapes. When we’d moved into the townhouse, I’d hung those drapes myself. Not having to do any handiwork for the twelve years before, my toolbox skills were seriously rusty. I literally ended up nailing the drapes into the wall after stripping a dozen screws. It’s not safe to even stand under the ones on the northern side of the house; they will stay in the house when I leave because they can’t come down.

After encouraging the little fucker down, I handed him back to Eleanor. “Take your cat and teach him some manners.”

She smiled at the little guy and said, “I think he’s an acrobat.

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