"You better not have shit on my floor," she grumbles, closing the door after it with unnecessary force (though she waits until it's well out of the way so as not to catch its tail in the door).

Her floor, it transpires, is fine. The back door wasn't open or anything, either. She searches the whole house very carefully until she finds the bathroom window on the second floor open a suspiciously catlike amount—she leaves it cracked on the regular, to clear the air in there faster. Well, not anymore. She closes it, then searches the whole house very carefully again. No more points of entry that she can detect.

Surprisingly enough given the cat's grocery-centric view of the world, it hasn't gone through her cupboards and eaten all her gingersnaps. She puts her groceries away and uneasily opens Netflix. Maybe the cat is just too dumb to open cupboards. And too polite to scratch at them? Well, it has been very polite so far, apart from the home invasion.

The next time she goes for groceries, she opens the door very cautiously, peeking out at the loveseat first to see if the cat is still there and gauge its apparent interest level.

The cat is there, and perks up its head at the noise, turning towards the door for a moment before lying back on its side and putting its feet up in the air and yawning, and then curling up. 

Acceptable.

"You're a delinquent," she tells it as she maneuvers out the door, closing it promptly behind her.

The cat yawns again, pointedly ignoring her. 

"A delinquent and a liar." She swings her cart out over the porch steps onto the path below and starts rolling it toward the street.

The cat stays curled up for its nap, clearly not waiting for her return or anything of the sort. 

Uh-huh.

And is it still there when she gets back?

It is! And it's looking at her pleading once more, meowing piteously as she approaches the door, and sticking her head through the shelf in the wrought iron to stare at both the groceries and April. 

"I don't know what you're expecting. I've definitely done nothing to imply I might have heartstrings."

She hauls her groceries up onto the porch and unlocks the door.

When the door is opened wide enough, the cat is suddenly off like a shot, diving through the gap on the porch swing and through April's legs, disappearing past the open door into the house. 

"Hey—what the fuck!" she calls after it. "This is not civilized behaviour!"

She drags the cart very grumpily in the door and then stands there holding the door open and peering after the cat.

The cat is in a loaf in the kitchen, near one wall out of the way, staring up at the fridge. It turns to look at April, meows, and then goes back to staring at the fridge. 

"Is this some kind of deeply tragic situation where you went on a cinematic adventure to find your way back to your house after getting lost somewhere only your owners had moved out by the time you got here and you're stuck with me instead? My dude, I don't even own cat food. I know chocolate kills you but I have no idea about gingersnaps. If I try to feed you I can only assume you'll throw up on the floor. Please leave."

The cat is being stared at, and so it definitely doesn't make any amused noises, because it can't understand a thing April is saying, due to only being a cat. Instead it lays there on the floor, glancing at the grocery cart and April and then back to the fridge, waiting. 

"No," she says firmly. Pointing out the door, she adds, "Get out. Outside. Go. Be free. Find somebody else to harass."

The cat sighs, and stretches, and get back up onto its feet, and pads towards the door, pausing in front of April. It looks up at her, staring. 

"Scram! No trespassing!"

The cat stretches, then pads off, brushing by her leg on the way out the door, hopping up onto the love seat to curl up once more. 

April closes the door emphatically behind it and then goes to put away her groceries.

The next week, she does her grocery shopping a day early.

There is no cat there when she leaves the house. 

Success!

And when she gets back?

The cat is there, curled up as though it had never left. It opens one eye and then closes it, seemingly showing her no interest, though at this point April likely knows better. 

"A delinquent, a liar, and a stalker!" she says, rolling her eyes as she digs for her keys.

The cat makes no motions as she digs for them, or goes to open the door. It's certainly not going to rush past her inside the house this time, it's just going to stay here all curled up, relaxing. She has nothing to worry about.