The swinging door to the kitchen screeched as it swung back and forth, and Naomi mouthed the word oil, reminding herself that she would need to buy a can. Inhaling the faint citrus aroma of the bowl of lemons on the counter, Naomi giggled.
“It’s just rain and thunder, no need ….” The neighbor’s cat caterwauled outside the kitchen door. “Damn cat,” she muttered, “why don’t they get that thing fixed, or feed it or something? It spends more time over here than over there.”
She thought for a moment, wondering if the cat actually did belong to her neighbor, the one that was two empty lots down from her. “Or somebody’s,” she groaned, “it’s too tame to be feral.”
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