Gemotions

"Oh, for crying out loud," Margaret groaned, her voice a low growl. She slammed the notice against the chipped countertop, the flimsy paper vibrating slightly. The cheap ink smeared a little. How dare they! Didn't they know she was *busy*? She glanced at the pile of bills, the mountain of unwashed dishes, the dust bunnies accumulating in the corners. Pathetic.

Her eyes narrowed. She had half a mind to ignore the damn thing altogether. Probably what she'll end up doing. The thought made her smile, a tiny, almost imperceptible curving of her lips.

She grabbed a can of cat food, the metal cool against her palm. Time to feed Mr. Whiskers. He was the only one who didn’t ask stupid questions. He never asked about the rent. He was smart.