It's not illegal if it's love, part 1.

So one particular day I was walking down the street because I'm not a lazy son-of-a-bitch and I don't always need to drive places, and I saw a young girl on the side of the road in a box. The box said "For Sale" as she looked at me, apparently incapable of talking. This was a space age box capable of speech, and also I'm poor with grammar. Anyway, this was not an uncommon sight in the bay area. With the influx of those filthy immigrants, a lot of children are born into homes that are unable to support them, so you see a lot of strays out in the town just causing a ruckus like the mongels mongrels they are. And I mean really, who cares about children anyway? Youth is wasted on the young, and the only thing children are good for nowadays is burning through your wallet and rotting in your house on the internet all day.

Out of pity I fed the little scamp some Skittles and lint I had in my pockets and continued on my way. A few blocks later... I noticed the bitch was following me. Now this is why you never feed the strays; they'll follow you home because they know you have food and they won't leave you alone.

"Go on, get out of here." I shouted at her.

Shooing her away, she simply trotted back towards me after I turned my back. This was going to get irritating since she clearly couldn't understand English. The girl must've been no more than 10 or 12 years of age. Amidst the disheveled mangy appearance there was a bit of charm there, and I bet she cleaned up nicely. Of course I was being entirely unrealistic in letting her trail behind me; my house wasn't the best place to keep homeless children. The interior of the house was too small for another to accommodate inside and there were too many other wild animals outside to keep her chained up in the yard. And the box said "For Sale" so I was technically stealing as well. I didn't really know what I was getting myself into.

"I'm home." I said. There was my manfriend who I shared the house with, cooking in the kitchen. Delicious lasagna and pasta. Being gay, he was a master chef.
"...What is that?" he asked, pointing at the small child.
"It followed me home. Can I keep it?"
"Oh god-dammit. Did you feed it on the way back?"
"Uh... maybe?"
"You idiot, you don't feed the strays."
"Oh please, how bad could having one be? I was found on the side of the road by my parents too."
"Lucas, your parents are abusive alcoholics and one of them is dead from vomiting up blood."
"Exactly, we would be much better parents." I say this because my manfriend and I are married, predominantly for the tax and insurance coverage. This is California, after all. And after a retreat from Georgia, the man found some solace in coming to a dump like this, but was caught off guard by the amount of wandering children out in the street.

"We can't afford her. Take her to the shelter." he said. I adamantly refused.
"She'll probably get put down like the rest of them." The poor thing didn't have a damn clue what we were discussing. "Besides, she had the energy to follow me 2 miles home on Skittles and lint. I'm sure she's strong enough to be put to use." He finally gave in.
"Ugh, fair enough." he sighed. "But I swear to God, she better not end up like the other one."
"I have no clue where Erin went."
"I think she got stuck under the house when we finally decided to board up the crawl spaces underneath."
"I did." A voice came from under the kitchen floor.
"Be quiet."
"The hell, if you're looking for me I'm under here, get me out!"
"Shut up, no one asked you." He stomped on the floor.
"PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE, I CAN ONLY LIVE ON DIRT, WORMS AND TRAPPED STRAY CATS FOR SO LONG!" The orphan clung to my side.
"Dammit, shut the hell up. You're scaring her." I stomped on the floor with enough force to shake the house.
"IF YOU KEEP DOING THAT, I'M GOING TO GO DEAF! YOU'D BE SURPRISED HOW WELL THE ACOUSTICS ARE UNDER HERE!"
"Let's walk to another area of the house. That bitch is getting annoying." my manfriend said.
"Agreed." The three of us left the kitchen into the living room, walking as loudly as we could in the process.
"OH GOD IT'S SO LOUD UNDER HER--Hey a cat. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere kitty kitty kitty..."

* * *

"Alright so first thing's first," he said. "Where are we gonna keep it?"
"Uh well, I got a cubby space underneath my bed." I was a part of the glorious master race of people who owned bedframes that functioned as dressers. Winter's a bitch though because a shitload of mold gets up in there and I have to clean the drawers regularly. But the stray probably had a hell of an immune system so I wasn't worried about that.
"I don't know, she seems too big to fit underneath there."
"Yeah..."
"Oh, I got it!" he got excited.
"What?"
"We'll cut off its legs, then it'll fit."

I think they did things differently down in Georgia. I had a feeling that despite not speaking English, the girl's slightly unnerved expression meant she might've had a rough idea what was being discussed.

"That's horrifying."
"Absolutely not. Get prosthetics that we can put them on when it needs to do work, and then we take them off so it can fit and it can't run away." As flawless as his logic was, I was opposed to this.
"Eh... prosthetics cost money. We're going to be paying enough with her here, so maybe down the road when we're more financially stable we'll consider it."
"YOU DIDN'T SAY THAT WHEN YOU CUT MY LEGS OFF!" the floor yelled.
"Oh god-dammit, nobody's talking to you."
"I JUST ATE A CAT, AND I THINK I'M GETTING SOME KIND OF SALMONILA POISONING FROM IT. IF YOU COULD CALL THE HOSPITAL, THAT WOULD B--"
"Fuck it, we're going for a walk."
And went for a walk we did. Of course, this was made easier because we didn't cut off our orphan's legs. We'll need a place for her to sleep and such, but I have a feeling things will be eventful in the coming weeks.