Oh good. A very important step. She should go avail herself of the new facilities. Once she gets out of this comfortable box. 

Pippi stretches, lazily, and cleans a paw. She'll go there in a few moments. 

Once the fateful task is complete, Daisy says her goodbyes at the door.

And April checks in on the cat. Still napping?

She is up and going over to check out (and use) the new litter box. She passes through April's legs on the way, rubbing up against her and purring.

She pauses at the top of the basement stairs to see where Pippi is headed, but once she sees her turn toward the litterbox she sighs aggrievedly and proceeds up the first-floor stairs to her office. She can trust the cat to know how to use the cat bathroom, right? Right? She doesn't have to hover awkwardly in case of accidents? Ugh, why did she ever agree to this.

She can in fact trust Pippi to use the cat bathroom without accidents! Not that Pippi knows that's what she's worried about, of course. And, as a cat, she's not smart enough to make assumptions or guesses about that. 

The litter box is of a decent size, big enough for her to use, and the litter is clay, and the clumping kind. Good. She paws at the litter for a little bit, then squats with her hind legs to do her business, then buries the remains of the deed. Acceptable. She could make other arrangements, if she needed to, but this is much more convenient. Also April would probably worry if the litter box wasn't being used. 

She cleans off her paws once more, and then stalks off lazily to explore and find her host. 

April is in her office, stewing in her emotional turmoil instead of working!

This sounds like a job for Pippi! 

She heads for April's legs, and rubs up against them, purring gently, to get her attention and see what she'll do. 

She groans and folds her arms on her desk and drops her head into them.

It's probably best to get this over with sooner rather than later, one way or another. April still has a lot of feelings about her. But Pippi needs to be here, and so needs to figure those feelings out. 

She rubs up against April's legs a little bit more, and then hops up into her lap, to curl up and be comforting and cozy. 

"Nyyyeeeerrrrraaauuuuuggghhh," April complains.

She leaves it at that for a few seconds, then lifts her head and continues, "I never wanted any of this! I'm a shit roommate and no one should depend on me for anything! I like living alone, I don't want a pet, I talk to you like you can understand me but I know I can't actually just say 'no shitting on the floor' and expect you to get it, and I hate that! I hate having responsibilities and I hate not being able to just ask you not to shit on my floor or break my stuff!"

Pippi, if she could understand human speech, would very much be looking forward to showing April just how good of a roommate she's going to be. Unfortunately, as an entirely normal cat, the most she can do right now is be a comforting weight on April's lap. 

Long sigh.

"...unfortunately, the only thing worse than unwanted responsibilities is, well... the life expectancy of a stray cat. I mean, clearly you can take care of yourself, but if I was a foot tall and homeless I wouldn't like my chances either, you know?"

She thunks her head back onto the desk and adds, muffled, "The cat doesn't know, April. The cat does not speak English."

The cat definitely does not speak English, and can give no sign that she does. She's also grateful to April for taking care of her, because she is a perfectly normal stray cat and doesn't have extra resources that April doesn't know about. And even if she did, she still appreciates that April cares enough to notice that. 

Pippi can repay her by being a very good housemate. She would have been an impeccable housemate anyways, but if she repays April for taking her in by doing what she would have done anyways, well, that works perfectly for her.

She can also meow gently and be comforting at the moment, since April seems to need it. She stretches and rubs herself against April's thighs, purring gently. 

She sighs again. She pets the cat.

"...I'm gonna hate cleaning that stupid litterbox so much," she mutters.

Perhaps Pippi will make other arrangements. Some of the time. Not too often, so as not to be suspicious. This also probably depends on how much April will be ok with her going outside or not. She'll figure it out. 

She purrs happily as she's pet. 

After a few more minutes, she gently nudges Pippi in an antilapward direction. "Scoot. Somebody's gotta pay the bills around here."

Pippi takes a moment to stretch, but hops off of the lap, and goes to find a sunny and comfortable spot to take a small nap. 

And April settles in at her computer.

And Pippi settles in for her nap. 

As usual at the end of April's day, she staggers out of her office after several hours of mixed work and fanfic-reading, and heads for the bathroom on autopilot to brush her teeth before bed. Cat? What cat?

This cat! Pippi is curious about the noise and comes in to investigate as she is brushing her teeth. She meows to get April's attention when it's clear that April is not going to notice her on her own. 

She yelps. Toothpaste emerges.

"Goddamn, you scared the shit out of me," she says, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe up the environs of the sink. "I've adopted a tiny ninja."

Pippi is likewise startled by the yelp, tensing for a moment before she relaxes back down. Tentatively, she pads over to April, to rub up against her shins and purr a little.