The humans' antics are every bit as loud as promised. Drilling and sawing through a door will do that.

In the end, though, it doesn't take all that long to get the cat door installed in the front door. Then April drags Daisy downstairs to the basement bathroom, where she gets a clear look at the indoor cat door for the first time.

"...It has a doorknob," she says accusingly. "A tiny doorknob. And a tiny archway. It's so door-shaped. A-door-able. Daisy, this isn't a cat door, this is a gnome door. For gnomes."

"I regret nothing."

"...it is really cute. Fine, I will accept the gnome door."

Pippi is not currently in a position to see the gnome door quite yet, as she's out of view of the humans, trying out her new cat door. She had not expected this and is delighted. 

After a few minutes of sidling in and out of the house through her new door, though, she stalks down the basement stairs to see what the further ruckus is about. How far along are they by now? 

For this one they have actually pulled the whole door off its hinges and are merrily sawing through it where it lies on the basement floor. The gnome door is safely ensconced on a table several feet away.

Pippi hops up on the table with the new cat door on it, to watch the humans at their work, and takes a measure of the indoor cat door while she's at it. It was probably Daisy's idea, not April's, or rather that's the kind of thing it would think if it were capable of abstract thought and not a regular normal cat. 

Pippi decides to curl up on top of the door until they need to install it. This shouldn't be an issue, after all, the door is hers now. 

The sawing is complete. April looks up.

"...Hey, where'd we put the gnome door?"

"Over there," Daisy says vaguely. "Huh, I don't see it..."

April squints.

"...she either stole it or she's sitting on it," she concludes. "Hey, Pip, I need that door now."

The door is her door, she should get to lay on top of it as much as she wants. 

But also she can begrudgingly allow them to install it so it can serve its intended purpose. 

After she stands up and stretches for a few seconds, of course. There's no need to rush. 

"Uh-huh. Thanks."

She grabs the door as soon as Pippi relinquishes it, then gets it set in place with Daisy's help (and installs the little doorstop widget for holding the gnome door open by its little gnome doorknob, in case that ever needs to happen). It looks just as a-door-able as the picture on the front of the box promised. Then she and Daisy get the whole door back up into place, and after some fiddling, the hinges are reassembled and the installation is complete! Door success!

Pippi of course tries this one out as well, and it works exactly as it's supposed to, which is to say it lets her in and out exactly as it should. After going back and forth a couple of times she goes to avail herself of the litter box, now that she doesn't need the whole bathroom door to be open to use it. 

April is only too happy to leave her to it. She and Daisy head upstairs for tea and snacks.

After a few minutes, Pippi heads upstairs to join them. What are they eating? Is any of it good for cats? Perhaps she can convince Daisy or April to part with something tasty. 

Also, if she were a cat that could understand human speech, she might also be curious what they're talking about. But mostly it's the tasty snack thing. 

That depends. How does Pippi feel about Pop-Tarts?

Daisy is regaling April with some office gossip that probably makes more sense if you are already familiar with all of Daisy's coworkers. And speak English, of course, which cats don't.

Several sniffs near the pop-tart reveals this is not a food that Pippi is interested in. Instead of asking for treats, she instead hops up on the countertop near the kitchen sink and settles in, washing a paw and watching the humans talk about things that she definitely cannot understand. 

Daisy's coworkers are embroiled in some truly heinous drama that Pippi should probably be grateful she is too feline to comprehend.

It makes April giggle, though.

After ten minutes or so of this, Pippi decides that her humans aren't being all that interesting, and heads to the couch in the living room for a more comfortable place to curl up and rest. 

Seems fine.

Eventually, Daisy heads home after stopping by the couch to see if Pippi would like to be petted.

Oh, Pippi would like to be petted. What kind of petting is on offer? Is Daisy providing a lap for Pippi to sit in? 

She's on her way out the door, so she's just leaning against the couch and reaching down.

That's acceptable. Pippi can sidle closer to her and purr when the fingers brush over her to show her appreciation.