Gemotions

Sarah sighed, sinking onto the lumpy sofa. The air in the apartment felt thick, cloying. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead. A sharp, almost painful ache throbbed in her temples.

Across the room, Emily was meticulously cleaning the cat's water bowl, humming a cheerful tune. "He needs fresh water every day," Emily chirped, oblivious. The cat, a sleek Siamese, rubbed against her legs. Sarah's jaw clenched.

She’d been the one to sign the lease. She’d found the place, negotiated the rent. Now, the cat seemed to own it. The faint scent of cat food clung to everything, a constant reminder.

"Can you at least put the litter box in the bathroom?" Sarah had asked once. Emily's response had been a dismissive wave. The bathroom? That was just *so* far away.