ⓌⒺⓁⒸⓄⓂⒺ
to Fabulous
LAS VEGAS
Nevada
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During the two months Cat remained unconscious after her Brooklyn fight, Mr. Mouser underwent special training with Alice. Oliver (still holding powers of attorney over medical decisions on her behalf), Victoria (her psychiatrist), and Ophelia (her psychologist) decided to turn the feline into a Psychiatric Service Animal. Given the bond Cat and her cat shared and the need to guarantee Mr. Mouser's future with her given the judicial shitshow that was going on regarding trust funds, they got the animal trained and certified.
That brought several benefits. Under the “fair housing” laws, the cat could live wherever Cat could. He could follow her to most places and even into restaurants and other venues. The feline could fly free of charge on all airlines, following animal guidelines. He couldn’t get out of the carrier during flight unless Cat was having an anxiety episode.
The training gave Mr. Mouser new skills. He now would accept and walk with a harness and leash with a discipline that would leave most dog owners green with envy. He also was more disciplined in using the litterbox and knew special gestures to indicate he needed to relieve himself. He also would remind Cat to take her antidepressants at the right time and to call for help if she had any issues. While the animal couldn’t dial 911 by itself, it knew how to loudly call for attention and bring people to her should she need.
She had a medical card and letter from her doctors stating Mr. Mouser’s status that she needed to show the TSA agents, and then have him stay still for the metal detector, which he did with a simple command. They swabbed her hands for explosives, checked the documents, then she returned him to his carrier. The most important benefit during her flight was that Mr. Mouser could get out of the pet carrier a few times if the seatbelt icon was off. The United Airlines staff requested the identification card to confirm Mr. Mouser’s special status and was very accomodating as they directed her to her seat and helped place the carrier under the seat in front of her.
The only drawback regarding flying was that she couldn’t sit on emergency exit rows but she didn’t care about that.
During the flight, she didn’t enjoy the in-flight entertainment and only nibbled on the airline snacks. She was too worried about the people she was leaving behind to eat or have some fun.
Despite not being officially wanted by the government, Alice and Shinji went into hiding. Nobody, not even detective Martinez knew where they were (and she was duty-bound to report if she did). Given that Alice and her wolves could subsist on a completely feral lifestyle, they must be hiding in any of the many parks and reserves in the region.
Jack was lost to the government. She didn’t blame him although she felt hurt by his choice, feeling like he had abandoned her. On an intellectual level, she understood why he made that choice. Magic and magical beings were a national threat but she feared the government would treat magical people as quasi-slaves, putting severe restrictions on their freedom. Just the way the colonel treated them during their stay at Fort Hamilton was enough evidence to believe that. That was why she outright rejected Jack’s offer to join the government.
There was a lingering doubt if the demon would allow her to assume a paid position with the very government that was hunting him down. Would she be forced to work for free? Enlist in the military? She couldn’t join the military with only one kidney. Should that organ fail, she had no redundancy to rely on and would need immediate dialysis. It was all in the medical emergency summary card she carried with her at all times. Mr. Mouser was also trained to help emergency responders fetch the card from her purse. Besides, she didn’t want to.
She was an entrepreneur by heart. A Capitalist, capital C, on both sides of the dual-soul person she was. Both William and Catherine lived and breathed money and the free market. They would make it or break it on the private sector.
After wasting enough time worrying, she informed the airplane staff she was taking Mr. Mouser out for a while to comfort her. After cuddling a bit with her pet, I mean, service animal, she returned him to the carrier and took her laptop. One of three she was carrying on the cabin, the Linux one. She confirmed all her social media accounts were locked down. She tried registering for Facebook again but found herself banned from the platform and its subsidiaries, like Instagram or Whatsapp. Twitter, the same thing. Only her Google account remained open but she would have a dog’s day trying to find anyone on big-G’s social media platform.
Her verified Reddit account was still active so she made a few Reddit posts regarding her situation and answered a few posts on r/CatherineWallenstein (her own sub!) so her followers knew what was going on regarding her social media silence. Before she closed the browser tab, she saw she had several private messages. Some Reddit moderators were inviting her to do an AMA session on their sub. Several news outlets wished to interview her, and they guaranteed they would do that online with her in a safe space. She guessed they didn’t want her in their studios ever again.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
She wished to call Agatha but refrained from doing so. Her lawyers were already wasting enough time chasing their tails and trying to fight back a legal battle that was all but impossible to win. The demon’s influence would not allow access to the trust funds until he withdrew them.
The biggest blow, however, was to know her FINRA license was revoked. She’d lost her status as a qualified investor, which blocked access to most direct trades. Her status as a day trader was also lost but it would be easy to reobtain if she had the latter. She would need to retake the Securities Trader Representative Examination again, along with the Uniform Securities Agent State Law Examination but she would need to take that in Nevada again anyway.
She pondered for a moment why Capitalism wasn’t considered a sin. It would make her life so easier. Then she gave up on the thought because it was too stupid. Maybe if she was a moneylender but that required her to have money in the first place. Which she didn’t. She only had some pocket money Oliver gave her for travel expenses and food for a week or two if she was frugal. After that, she was on her own.
And she had to earn money with her own body. Stupid demon and his curses.
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The plane landed on McCarran International and she claimed her checked-in baggage. Most of her stuff was still in New York with Agatha and Oliver. Once she got a stable address, they would ship her stuff over. Her stay in Nevada would take as long as it needed to. Years, maybe.
Her first step after getting her stuff together was to go to the pet relief area so Mr. Mouser could stretch and relieve himself in the provided litterbox. A couple dogs eyed the cat suspiciously but their owners quickly disciplined their animals. She played with her pet for a while, until they both could decompress from the flight. Then she went out in the open with Mr. Mouser on his leash. An airport security officer approached her.
“Ma’am, is your animal a service… cat?” He asked as Catherine scowled and whined about the “dog people prejudice”.
“Yes, he is. My cat is trained to provide medical support in case of an emergency,” she answered as trained, pre-empting the second question they were allowed to ask her.
“Understandable. Thank you and have a nice day,” the officer said before he walked away and talked something on his radio.
It was something she would have to go through all the time when she was out with Mr. Mouser as it was not “readily apparent” that the Wirehair was a service animal, the aforementioned “dog people prejudice”. Under the ADA legislation, those were the only two questions they could ask regarding service animals. She could have Mr. Mouser wear a scarf or a button denoting his status but that was controversial in the service animal community as it could place a stigma on the person with a disability. It would be the equivalent of walking with a scarlet letter on her, a mark of shame. Personally, she wished Mr. Mouser wore the least possible.
She wandered around the domestic arrivals exit until she found her contact. It was easy once she knew what to look for, as every male in a hundred-yard range had their eyes glued on the girl. Despite the ambient temperature of fifty-something degrees, “Terry” wore jean shorts that were both definitely made out of jeans and absolutely short over fishnet stockings and a tank top that only left the color of the skin underneath to the imagination. A pink Mary-Jane and gaudy jewelry completed her exotic look. Before Cat could conjecture why she wasn’t ogling the sensual girl like every man worth his testosterone would, the model waved at her, saying goodbye to the guys fawning over her. She definitely knew how to handle a male crowd.
“Cathy!” She immediately hugged Cat, pressing down on her cold-weather garments. Her flight was almost delayed by a snowstorm, after all. “Welcome to Las Vegas, girl!”
“Terry, hi!”
“It’s Theresa out here, actually,” Theresa said. “Sorry, my bad, I should’ve introduced myself properly when I invited you. Man, I still don’t believe you are actually here! Catherine Wallenstein, the Brooklyn Demon Slayer in person!”
Cat giggled. It was hard to not be carried along by the flash flood that was Theresa’s personality. While she disliked the moniker, it was now just another part of her online infamy.
“But tell me, was it a real demon or just some CGI shenanigans?”
Cat bit her lip. “In honor of the brave NYPD officers that gave their lives to protect the citizens that day, I feel duty-bound to speak the truth. But those two FBI agents over there would rather have me shut the fuck up,” she discreetly pointed to two men watching the exchange. “So I hope you like your answer.”
She noticed the agents inside her airplane too. The government’s interest in her was to find the whereabouts of the two returners. She decided to just ignore them and not give them a hard time aside from making sure they knew she was aware of being under surveillance. Her opinion on her nation’s administration was rising on the Orwellian scale of shitfuckery.
Theresa eyed the two alleged agents. “Hot,” she purred, then laughed as she took Cat’s arm. “Hello, guys!” She waved at the FBI agents, who were desperately trying to mingle and not get singled out.
Mr. Mouser decided he didn’t like being ignored and headbutted Theresa.
“And who do we have here? Who is this ‘cwuddly’ ‘kyute’ fluffy lovely kitten?” She knelt and scratched the Wirehair. Mr. Mouser sniffed her and proceed to rub his face all over her hand and legs, marking her as part of his band. “Damn, this fur feels so dreamy!”
“This is Mr. Mouser. He's my brave little helper and guardian,” Cat said, taking the animal in her arms.
“Well, welcome to Vegas! Come, let’s get an Uber ride and cruise the Strip. Get that giddy newcomer germs out of your system right away,” she took Cat and guided her out of the airport maze. “Say, should we invite your MIB friends to come along with us? It’ll be crowded but I don’t mind being stuck between these two,” she said with obviously carnivorous undertones.
It was all an act, Cat would learn after spending most of her time around the internet entertainer. Theresa loved to tease but she was no whore and just slightly slutty, the playful kind. Cat thought her shameless femininity was something admirable.
“Nah, don’t mind them,” Cat scoffed. “They’re somewhat camera shy and they’ll keep tailing us anyway. A waste of taxpayer money, if you ask my opinion.”
“Oh, bummer,” she pouted, then hooked Cat’s arm. “Lead the way, Mr. Mouser! To the Vegas Strip!”
Mr. Mouser didn’t deign to meow.