If Pippi were capable of understanding human speech, she would point out the numerous things April has done for her, such as let her into her home and do her best to give her food and water and then also give her cat doors and also how playing the video game was surprisingly fun even though she knows she wasn't really doing anything -- but of course Pippi is a perfectly normal cat that cannot understand April or communicate this in any way. The best she can do is rub up against her legs in a cozy fashion and purr. 

"I guess if I was the man in that scenario, telling my girlfriend that being into people like me was going to cause her problems, I would want to reevaluate my life or something, but I don't feel like doing that so I'm just gonna go to bed. Night, Pippi." She attempts to be free of cat.

The cat allows April to free herself from her without much difficulty. and leans back on her haunches to watch April enter her room and close the door behind her. After a moment or two she'll wander off to do perfectly normal cat things, like go to bed herself. 

The following days begin to establish a pattern. April gets up, makes breakfast for herself and Pippi, works for a while in her office, has an early lunch if work isn't going well and a late lunch if it's going either very well or very poorly, then half the time forgets to eat dinner at all before bed (but, when she does remember, feeds Pippi too). The post-work evening time tends to involve video games, but sometimes she lounges in the basement den with a book instead. (The couch in the front room/living room seems to be purely decorative.)

(That's good because the couch belongs to Pippi now. She lounges on it when it gets good sun during the day.) Pippi's pattern, once she figures out what April's is, is to be ready for breakfast when breakfast is served, and then entertains herself while April is working. There isn't terribly much for a perfectly normal cat to do just yet. She spends a decent amount of time poking around inside the pirate ship and using it to sharpen her nails (sadly there's no rigging for her to climb), a decent amount of time lounging in the sun, and a decent amount of time exploring the house looking for pests. Despite the cat doors, she doesn't spend much time outside, as far as April can tell. 

She shows her new roommate great respect and affection -- rubbing up against her shins, purring about the food and her touches, and doing her best to cadge as much lap time as she can (which is much less than she'd like). And she doesn't make any messes whatsoever, going in the litter box whenever she needs to, if she's not going outside. In fact, with the frequency of how often she goes outside as opposed to in the litter box, April will probably have to change it less often. 

Pippi, of course, does her best to ask for whatever food April is eating when it would befit her to have some (less often than she'd like), and helps out with April's video games as best she can, depending on the game. 

April is very conscientous about looking up all the foods Pippi asks for to find out if they kill cats, and pretty conservative about interpreting ambiguous results, but if Pippi wants extra of anything that's safe for her to eat then April will make extra. She grumbles a lot when she has to deal with the litterbox, but she still does deal with it.

Her house is pretty pest-free overall, though Pippi can probably find some bugs to commit little kitty war crimes against if she tries hard and believes in herself.

After observing that Pippi has claimed the Useless Couch as her own, April has an idea.

One evening after work, instead of heading down to the basement like usual, she heads down to the front room and sits on the Useless Couch.

What's this? For a moment Pippi wonders if she should be territorial about her new space, but she's more curious than anything else. She perks up her head to see what April is up to. (And to see if there is a lap available for her to colonize, of course. If April is going to sit in her domain, she should have to pay the toll.) 

"Hey, you," she says, making inviting lapward gestures.

Oh, well, perfect. Not too fast, of course, because it's not like April is giving Pippi something that she needs or anything, Pippi makes her way over to the lap, and hops into it. She turns around once in it, and then starts kneading a leg (being careful to keep her claws in). 

Scritches ensue.

"It's not like I'm gonna do this every day," she cautions. "But, you know, this is basically your room now, it's the logical place to go if I want to hang out with you." Scritch scritch. "I wonder if I should move your pirate ship here? I have no way to find out if you think that's reasonable. Or maybe the bed? Is it weird to sleep in the kitchen? I guess it's not any less weird to sleep in the alleged living room. Maybe I'll move the pirate ship here anyway, though, I'm always afraid I'm gonna kick it across the room by accident when I'm coming down the stairs."

Pippi is a perfectly normal cat that cannot understand human language, so she doesn't really have a good way to tell April that she'd be perfectly happy with having this room be hers now, pirate ship and all, but she can purr at her words anyways. Well, she might be purring anyways due to the scritches but she can purr lots. 

Sadly, due to being a cat still, she also can't tell April that she'd be happier if the pirate ship had rigging or something good to climb, but that's just how things are. Perhaps she can demonstrate by climbing on the couch more when April is observing, now that April seems happy to designate this room as her own. 

"Yeah, okay, the pirate ship can move to the shitty coffee table and then if you don't hate that maybe I'll move your bed in here too one of these days." (The shitty coffee table is not especially low quality, or wasn't when it was first made, but it's very old and battered to the point where no amount of amateur refinishing can smooth over its scarred surface any longer.)

Pippi has no good way to respond to this presently other than even more purring, but more purring is definitely what she's going to do. 

"You're very fuzzy," April observes, petting her.

It's true! Pippi is very fuzzy! And she can wriggle happily under April's hand if that helps any. While purring, of course. The purring is definitely happening. 

"I still don't know what I did to make you so happy but I guess I can't complain." Pet pet.

If Pippi could talk or communicate (and understand what April is saying, which, being a normal cat, she cannot), she would tell her about how she hasn't been mean to her once and she's been trying to make sure the things she feeds her are safe and also the cat doors and the food and the litter box and letting her into her home and everything. (Some of the initial stuff might have been a ploy or something, but April is a very good roommate for cats and this seems like a very relaxed assignment for Pippi.) Pippi is glad she's well-cared for despite the fact that April did not originally realize she wanted a cat. 

But she can't say any of that so she just purrs more. 

April settles in and pets the cat for a good long while, occasionally musing aloud about the book she's reading or the game they played yesterday or a thorny coding problem that's been giving her trouble.

After the longest solid block of lap time Pippi has ever had, she yawns and nudges Pippi out of her lap. "I gotta make dinner. And move your pirate ship."

But... lap..... 

Pippi regretfully yawns and stretches a bit to bring herself back to wakefulness, responding to the nudging, before hopping out of the lap and onto the floor to wander around a bit before dinner. 

"Your cooperation is appreciated."

She grabs the pirate ship and moves it to the shitty coffee table, glancing at Pippi along the way to try to gauge her reaction.

Pippi follows her as she picks up the (slightly scratched up) pirate ship, follows it and April to the coffee table, and when the cardboard construct is placed in its new home, hops from floor to couch, climbs up to the arm of the couch, and hops onto the pirate ship. She settles into her new location, looking at as though a queen on her throne. Yes, this is acceptable. 

"Awesome."

In that case she will throw together some lazy noodles for dinner - probably not appropriate for cats, though if Pippi expresses interest she can double-check that on Google - and eat at the kitchen table while idly skimming news headlines on her phone.

There doesn't seem to be much in the way of meat or eggs or anything in there, so Pippi can turn up her nose at April's food after giving it a sniff, and go and consume her own. 

After dinner, she cleans up the kitchen and goes to bed a little earlier than usual.

And Pippi can watch her go through her usual bedtime rituals, and then curl up in her own bed and go to sleep herself.