Free Fly Me to the Moon by Alyson Noël

the kitchen, and just like in a clip from
When Animals Attack,
Harold, Conrad, and William came charging toward me, their tiny white paws scraping furiously against the stone floor while their blue eyes remained fixed on their intended prey—
me.
I froze in horror as I watched them closing in, and for a brief moment I considered fleeing down the hall toward the safety of my room. But in the end, I just dropped my bags and stood there, knowing that whatever vicious act they had in mind, surely I deserved it.
    But instead of leaping for my throat and going straight for thejugular, they skidded to a stop at my feet. And then, arching their backs and lowering their heads, they sidled up against my legs, meowing in a way that was more greeting than protest. And as a lifelong, dedicated “dog person,” I gotta admit, I was impressed.
    Relieved that all they seemed to want was a little love and nourishment, I busied myself with filling their bowls. Then I got down on the floor with them, and cried while they ate.
     
    When the alarm rang at seven, I was already wide awake, having spent the previous half hour rubbing my itchy, watery eyes and battling through intense sneeze attacks brought on by “the kids.” And by the fact that I’d felt so guilty about their desertion I’d actually let them sleep with me.
    I reached over, silenced the clock, and wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee, some paper, and a pen. Yesterday’s tragedy was still fresh in my mind, and I knew that eventually I’d have to deal with it, since I could only dodge Lawrence for so long. But for now, I had the whole day off, and I was determined to use it for more pressing issues.
    I had promised myself that as soon as I returned from Puerto Rico I would begin rebuilding my life. And the best way for me to do that is always by making a list. Otherwise I tend to get sidetracked and drift way off course.
    So I grabbed a notepad from a hotel in Barcelona and a ballpoint pen advertising a Dublin pub and wrote:
     
    To Do Today:
     
1. Pick up stuff from Michael’s.
2. Find apartment to put stuff in.
     
    Okay, this being New York City and all, I knew what a seemingly impossible task the second item would be. It can take people withfar more money and resources than I months to find a decent place to live. But this was one of those rare cases when being a flight attendant could actually work in my favor. Since our irregular schedules rarely keep us in one place for more than a few days at a time, we are known to occupy the tiniest apartments in large quantities. So surely, somewhere on this twenty-five-mile island there was a vacant bunk bed waiting for me. I mean, as nice as it was in the Fifth Avenue penthouse, there was no way I could survive the rest of the week with three fluffy Persians and their collective dander. Besides, it was time to reclaim my life and start paying my own way.
    So after feeding the felines, and brewing some coffee, I fired up my laptop and logged onto the Atlas Airlines Web site, heading straight for the employee swap board, which serves as a sort of craigslist for flight attendants, offering up everything from unwanted trips to gently worn uniform items and rooms for rent.
    Since the majority of New York—based flight attendants and pilots are commuters, flying in to work and then heading back home as soon as their trip ends, there was a long list of available space in Kew Gardens (which due to its airport proximity and apartments chock-full of airline employees is also known as Crew Gardens). But that’s mostly a “twenty people to a two-bedroom” commuter crash pad, hot bed (bring your own sheets, first come first served) situation. And since I was a newly single, noncommuting, full-time New York—dwelling gal, I really preferred to live in the city. And I really preferred to have my own bed.
    But after reading through countless listings I knew would never work, I was just about to give up when I read the very last