Birth Of The Orange Demon

They spoke in hushed tones, eyes darting across the Monday night patrons of the Spoilt Brat. “If this is to happen, we will have to dispose of Sylvester.”
Alexia hadn’t considered that. She was fond of Sylvester, and had been since she was a little girl.
Above them the lightbulb surged, as if an idea–or Frankenstein’s monster had just been born into existence.
“Fine, Jon. Sylvester is gone. But there is no way I’m naming our cat Garfield after your grandfather.”

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