what do you say to like $60, and like $15 for any indoor doors you want to cat

seems fine

OK, I'll grab you the goods and come help you install them, pay me back when I get there. 6 pm sound good?

👍

oh and I'm assuming the cat is size small but if you want to know for sure you should get after her with a tailor's tape. height chest to shoulder and width side to side, get it to me by 5

I'll see what I can do

Once a few hours have elapsed, if April takes a look outside, she'll find Pippi sleepily dozing on her favorite loveseat in a small patch of sun. 

"Well," she says, "I don't know about you, but I'm about to have lunch."

Pippi perks up at the sound of April's voice, and after stretching hops down from her spot, lazily walking through the opened door back into the house as if she hadn't been waiting for April at all. 

Lunch for April and also for kitty.

And then April fishes a measuring tape out of her pocket and says, "Okay, bear with me, I'm getting a cat door and I need to text Daisy your door size."

If she sits down on the floor will her inexpicably affectionate feline take this as an opportunity for lap time?

A cat door? Perfect! That will make things much easier! 

...is what she would be thinking if she could understand human speech and also needed to leave the house on a regular basis for some reason, which she can't and doesn't, of course. 

And so when April sits down on the floor, Pippi is only too happy to stalk over and plop into her lap. (She's rather full anyways at this point, so a comfy lap is perfect.) 

April delivers gentle scritches and also awkward maneuvering with the measuring tape, and eventually texts Daisy and gets back a confirmation that Pippi is a Small as far as pet doors are concerned. She also, unlike her author, remembers to explicitly mention that she only wants one indoor cat door—the three doors upstairs are all doors she wants to keep secure against cat, but the bathroom in the basement belongs to the cat now so it's only fair to get a cat-sized door for it.

"Okay, I'm gonna need my lap back now," she says, giving Pippi a nudge.

Despite all the awkward maneuvering, Pippi is pretty comfortable right where she is, and now the awkward maneuvering has stopped. Will April continue to sit there if Pippi buries her face cozily into her and makes sleepy purring noises? 

"C'mon, lazybutt, I've got work to do." Nudge nudge.

Awww, fine. 

As though it was her idea, Pippi stretches a little, and then hops out of April's lap and pads over to her cat bed, where she curls up for a longer nap. 

"Thank you."

Up to her office she goes.

And Pippi takes a cozy afternoon snooze. 

As promised, Daisy knocks on the door a little after 6.

"I come bearing power tools!"

"Perfect. Let's bust a hole in my front door with them."

Pippi perks up her head up at all the noise, stretches lazily, and heads over to check out the commotion. 

"You might want to get out of the way," April says to the cat. "It's gonna get loud and dangerous."

"You know, I've met people who talked to their cats, but you talk to your cat in a whole new way. It's very cute."

"Shut up and help me destroy things."

Pippi, wary of the impending destruction, hops up onto the arm of the nearby couch, to watch (and to get out of the way). She kneads the fabric for a half a minute or so, then settles into a loaf to observe the humans' antics.