This time, when she glances at the loveseat, there is an orange and white cat laying atop the soft cushions on the loveseat. The cat perks up its head for a moment as April looks at it, then settles back down into a curl, cleaning itself as though the person looking at it is no longer of concern. 

Great, her porch monstrosity has squatters now. Well, whatever, not her problem. Maybe somebody else's problem if this is their cat. Or if they have small animals they would like to remain un-tortured. But not April's problem, which is really the important thing here.

She does glance at the loveseat, half an hour later when she returns with her handcart full of bread and milk and Pop-Tarts.

The cat is still there, lounging comfortably in the sun. When April passes by, it picks up its head to track her, and when it sees the cart full of groceries it turns its gaze on them, and gives a pleading meow, as though asking for a part of some of the contents. It continues to follow her, getting up to place its front pawns on one of the shelves as April heads closer to the door, staring at her with pleading in its eyes, meowing piteously once more. 

"Don't give me that look, I'm not running a charity here."

The cat tilts its head a little, and meows again, staring fixedly at the insides of the handcart, before turning and looking April directly in the eye, need showing through its eyes. 

"Uh-huh. Go commit war crimes against the local wildlife or something." She hauls the cart up the steps, always the worst part of a grocery run, then digs out her keys and unlocks the front door.

The cat watches, giving the occasional meow, as April unlocks the door and lets herself in her own house, before settling back down to clean itself some more once the door closes. 

Great, glad they've got that sorted out.

April does not, on the whole, leave her house much. She works from home and hates sunlight. So it's not until her next grocery run a week later that she gets the chance to find out if her porch squatter is still hanging around.

It is! It's looking slightly worse for wear, with its fur coat slightly bedraggled, though clearly kept as clean as it can be, and it has once again made itself comfortable on the porch swing. This time it doesn't even pick up its head, but it does start carefully washing itself as April exits the house, not looking at her at all. 

"Get a job," she tells it as she trundles past.

If the cat twitches its head in momentary amusement at that, it's not anything April will notice, as she's turned around the other way when it does. And if April does turn around to look back, all she'll be able to see is a cat, washing itself, comfortable on the porch swing. 

She does glance at it once. Ugh, people are going to start thinking she has a cat now. Probably not that much worse than them thinking she owns that porch swing on purpose, she supposes. If the cat starts peeing on her stuff she'll figure out how to call Animal Control, and until then she can put up with it.

It's still going to be there when she gets back, isn't it.

It is there when she gets back! It's back to staring at the groceries this time, though, intently, as though it knows the sorts of things that are in there. It once again meows piteously as she passes, placing its paws on the shelf in the wrought iron to stare at her and her handcart as she gets to the front door. When it moves its ribs are slightly visible under its skin, as though it knows how to show her how underfed it clearly must be, but of course a cat isn't smart enough to do that on purpose. 

"I'm making cookies and you can't have any. Actually, wait, don't chocolate chips kill you? You double can't have any."

The cat simply meows at her, glancing back and forth between the grocery cart and her with a desperate look in its eyes. 

"The answer to your question is no."

She opens the door and drags her cart inside.

The cat meows once more, then settles down for a nap. 

"Same time next week?" she mutters as she closes the door.

Once again, there is no one to see a cat tilt its head in amusement, as April is inside, and no one would expect a cat to do such things. 

And indeed, next week, the cat is still there, curled up and having a nap on the porch swing. It opens one eye when it hears the door open, but immediately closes it again as soon as it sees who it is, paying her no heed. 

"You really need a better hobby. I guarantee you any other house on this street would be a softer target for your pitiful beggar routine."

Off she goes with her grocery cart.

The cat is napping, and doesn't act like it's heard anything at all. 

When she returns, there is no cat present on the porch swing. 

"Huh. Shocker."

She drags her groceries inside as usual.

When she opens the door, there is a cat, standing partway up the stairs, staring at her through the railing of the stairwell, frozen. Its muscles are tensed, ready to run. 

"...how the fuck did you get in my house?? Get out of my house!"

The cat stares at her for several moments, and then, as though deciding something, lets the tension out of her, and casually jumps through the railing onto the floor near April's feet, and stares up at the grocery cart, meowing piteously again. Then she casually stalks out the open front door, turning towards the loveseat to go sit on it once more, and wash herself.