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. 

"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. 

"I've got my eye on you," she says as she cautiously nudges the door open.

Cozy cat. No clever plans here. Just relaxing sleepy on this swing. 

Suuuure.

The real test is going to be when she has to maneuver the cart in the door; there's no avoiding opening it at that point.

When the cart is a quarter of the way through the door, the cat turns, stretches, hops down off of the loveseat, and strides its way past April's legs (giving them a soft brushes as it passes) into the house, pausing inside and looking up at her. 

"I knew it. Liar liar pants on fire."

She wrestles the cart the rest of the way in and sighs.

"Are you going to make an unholy mess if I put away my groceries?" she demands.

As if in answer, the cat curls up in a corner, and starts cleaning itself, popping her head up now and then to take a look around, but mostly concentrating on the cleaning. 

"Ugh. Fine. Don't think I buy your innocent act for a second."

She rolls the cart past the stairs into the kitchen and starts putting stuff away, leaving the door open in case the cat decides of its own accord to leave.

The cat says absolutely nothing and continues washing itself. 

It looks up as she goes past each item, though, and when she gets to the milk it looks up and gives another pitiful meow. 

"Doesn't milk actually give you the shits or something? I'm not having a cat with diarrhea in my house."

The cat blinks and goes back to cleaning itself. 

None of the other foods that April are unloading are obviously edible to cats, and the one thing that everyone knows cats can have April knows they actually can't, so the cat doesn't respond to any of the rest of the items. 

When April is done putting all of the food away, the cat sighs, stretches, and pads out of the house, hopping back up onto the swing once more to rest. 

"So long, sucker!"

She closes the door behind it.

Next week, the cat is there once again, watching her leave the house with her cart as per usual. It yawns at her once she sees it, and rests its head on its arms, eyes half-open. 

"I'm onto your tricks, bud." She blocks the door with her body as she closes it, to reduce risk of cat entry.

The cat makes no effort to do anything of the sort, and indeed has never had any interest in doing such a thing. It's perfectly content to relax in its favorite spot and watch April leave on her usual errand. 

"Uh-huh. Sure. You keep telling yourself that."

Off she goes.

And the cat is still there when she comes back, yes?

It is! It glances at her occasionally as she approaches, but makes no move to do anything, and indeed isn't really paying her very much attention. She can probably sneak inside without alerting the cat at all. 

"You're a lying hooligan, don't think I don't know it."

The cat licks its own nose and continues resting without any care in the world, as cats are wont to do. 

Uh-huh. And how about when she's getting the groceries in the door? Still napping?

Nope, when the groceries are far enough into the door, that's when she hops up off the swing, and, tail high in the air, walks past April into the house, rubbing up against her leg as it does so, strolling back to the same position in the kitchen as last time. 

"And what does the food safety inspector have to say about my groceries this week?"

It's mostly the same stuff as last week, but this time she bought eggs.

The cat looks up when she takes the eggs out, and meows softly at her. Then goes back to washing itself. 

"Really?? Hold on a sec." She pulls out her phone.

Dear Google: can cats eat eggs?

Raw eggs are bad to feed to cats, but cooked eggs -- whether boiled or scrambled -- are good for cats, as long as they're cooked without butter or salt or anything but the eggs themselves, and as long as you feed the cat things in addition to the eggs, as eggs are not nutritionally complete for cats. But cooked eggs are perfectly safe for cats to eat. 

She looks back and forth a few times between phone and cat. "Well. I'm still not feeding you. Now scram."

The cat looks up at the carton of eggs and meows piteously, then stares at April with eyes full of need. 

"You can make that face at me all you want, and at the end of the day I still won't own a litterbox. Get lost."

Another meow as she puts the carton of eggs away, and then the cat continues to watch as the rest of the groceries are put in their places. When they're all gone the cat pulls itself up onto all fours and sidles out of the room, making sure to rub itself against April's thighs on the way out. It pads its way out the door and hops up onto the loveseat, curling up once more. 

"You're a pest," she says, closing the door.

When next April leaves for groceries, the cat is there, lying in a small bit of sunlight on the cushions. It perks up its head as the door opens, and turns to look. 

"I'm getting bacon today, and you're not having any."

The cat's ears twitch, but of course, it doesn't understand the word bacon, and so responds as normal, watching her attentively and occasionally licking a paw, at least until the door is shut behind her.

Once the door is safely closed and locked, the cat stretches, jumps down from its perch on the chair and rubs up against her shins, before jumping back up to curl up in its patch of sun. 

"This is a transparent ploy to gain access to my bacon and I'm not falling for it."

Down the street she goes.

The cat has no reason to pay attention to her any more, and yawns and shifts, not watching April as she leaves at all. 

She goes; she comes back. Is the cat still there and pretending to nap?

It is! Well, not pretending, of course not. It's definitely napping. No pretend here. Look at it, breathing softly in and out, eyes closed. It's fast asleep, clearly. 

"If any fuzzy creamsicles in the area want to inspect my groceries, now's the time," she remarks, opening her front door. "You're not fooling anybody."

The cat can't understand what she's saying, of course. But it can react to the sound of the door opening, stretch, and lazily stalk its way into the house, like it owns the place, and alight itself in the usual spot in the kitchen. 

No eggs this time, but, as promised, there is bacon.

The bacon definitely gets a reaction. The cat perks its head up and meows plaintively, eyes tracking the package of meat. 

"No! My bacon, not yours!" The bacon goes in the fridge. She closes the fridge. "Go beg food off of someone with a heart."

The cat meows and slumps on the floor, then turns to look away from April and starts washing itself, not paying her the slightest bit of attention. 

"Oh, that's rich coming from a home invader."

She puts away the rest of her groceries.

The can pointedly ignores her while she does this, though eventually it does turn its attention back on her, once everything is put away. It looks up at her, begging with its eyes. 

"Get lost. No bacon for you."

The cat stretches lazily, and pulls itself up to its feet, stalking over to April to rub up against her shins. And then, politely, she walks out of the house, and hops back up onto the porch swing, finding the patch of sunlight once more. 

"I'm so glad we reached an understanding." She closes the door again.

And the cat curls up to sleep in its accustomed place. 

Why is this her life now.

Well. Grocery shopping still happens every week. She's given up on varying her schedule, as the cat seems omnipresent.

The cat perks up as she exits the door, waits for her to close it behind her, and then hops down to rub up against her shins some. It purrs a little as it does so. 

"I can't imagine what you think you're getting out of this relationship."

It meows softly at her, purrs again, and then sidles away to hop back in its accustomed place to watch her go. 

"Your affection cannot win my cold dead heart," she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.

The cat says nothing in response to this, and simply stares at her as she leaves, then lays back down to curl up on the soft and faded cushions. 

Once again, when she gets back, she opens the door for the cat instead of trying to wrestle the cart in while guarding the opening.

And the cat takes this as all the signal to stroll into the house, curl up in the kitchen, and see if she's bought anything for it this time. 

"You still can't have any," she says as she pulls the eggs out from under the bread.

Despite the words, the cat perks its head up to follow the carton anyways, meowing slightly and looking at April with wide eyes. 

"Hope springs eternal in your tiny brain, huh?" Eggs into fridge. Fridge closed. "No."

The cat looks down sadly for a moment, then perks back up to watch the rest of the food items be put away. 

Nothing else exciting in this batch now that an agreement has been reached about milk.

When all the groceries are put away, the cat lays there, licking itself for several moments, then looks up curiously at April. 

"What's your problem now?"

The cat turns towards the kitchen sink, and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to it. It bats at the faucet a few times, then turns to look at April. 

"Seriously? Man..."

She contemplates this picture.

"...fine," she sighs, turning on the faucet. "If you pee on my floor I am having you evicted."

The cat sticks its face under the faucet and drinks, turning its face sideways to lap at the stream of water. It stays there for a couple of minutes, getting itself a good long drink of water from the faucet in a way it clearly cannot out in the wild. 

After a minute, she sits down at her kitchen table and gets out her phone to play Candy Crush, keeping half an eye on the cat the whole time.

Once the cat has finally drunk its fill, it jumps down onto the floor again to rub up against April's shins. It's purring quite happily now. 

"Yeah, yeah. You caught me having basic human decency and now I'm never gonna live it down."

The cat purrs again and then stalks its way out of the house, heading back to its usual spot, to hop up and clean the water soaked into its face from its long long drink. 

"I hate having responsibilities," she calls after it, getting up from the table to go close the door.

The cat, being a cat, cannot possibly understand her, and certainly has no capacity to think about how much progress it's making with her. It therefore has no reason to twitch its ears with amusement at the remark, and any ear twitches that do happen will go unnoticed anyways. 

Well.

A couple of days later, she leaves the house for a non-grocery reason for once. Is the cat still on her porch?

It is! 

It perks up its head to look at her as she exits the house, and then when the door is closed it hops down to rub itself up against her shins again. 

"Don't get your hopes up, I'm just going to the dentist."

The cat meows softly and rubs up against her a little bit more, then jumps back up onto its faded cushions to relax in a patch of sunlight. 

"See you later, weirdo."

Off she trots.

When she returns the cat is still all cozied up in a patch of sunlight napping, though it opens one eye as she approaches. 

"I return bearing only pain. No inspection today."

She still keeps an eye on the cat as she opens the door.

The cat hops down and rubs itself against her shins again, purring softly. It looks at the door opening, but makes no move to go through. 

"World's weirdest cat."

In she goes, door closed.

No cozy post-dentist cat snuggles for April, then. Back up to napping on the loveseat in the sunlight. 

Groceries happen later in the week, at the usual time.

And, as per usual, the cat is there. It jumps down to rub itself against her shins in its usual fashion, purring gently. 

"I'm still not feeding you."

Away she carts.

And the cat watches her go, taking its customary place on the loveseat on the porch. 

And she's back! Cat still catting?

Cat is indeed still catting! Cat is catting but yawns and stretches as she approaches, feet batting at nothing in the air. 

"Can the innocent act and get inside already," she says, opening the door. "When you do the sneaking past the cart thing I'm always expecting to run you over by accident and nobody wants that."

The cat stretches up onto its feet, and casually pads into the house, dropping into a loaf in its usual corner. 

There's bacon again this week.

The cat stares at the bacon when it is removed from the cart. It meows plaintively at April, looking at her with wide eyes, before turning back to the bacon package. 

"Don't you make that face at me. I'm not your mom."

"Uh-huh. No." She puts the bacon away.

"I am impervious to your feline wiles."

The cat looks away and begins meticulously cleaning a paw. 

"Nerd," she says, which doesn't even make any sense, but luckily cats don't speak English.

Indeed, the utterance doesn't make a lot of sense to the cat -- or wouldn't, if the cat could understand human speech, which of course it can't. So it just continues meticulously cleaning its paw, not responding any differently to anything that April has said. 

"Yeah, I don't know what I meant either."

The cat definitely cannot understand human speech, because it is a cat, and so continues cleaning its paw. 

She finishes putting the rest of the groceries away. "Go on, shoo."

The cat finishes cleaning its paw, unhurried, and then hops up on the counter top near the sink, and turns to look at April. 

"Aww, c'mon."

The cat bats its paws at the faucet, and turns to look at April again. 

"I'm doing this under protest," she says, but she turns on the water.

The cat purrs, then sticks its face sideways into the stream of water to thirstily drink for the next few minutes. 

"I feel the need to remind you of the rule against peeing on my floor," she says, sitting down and getting out her phone.

The cat pays this admonition no heed, and continues drinking. 

Well, naturally.

Eventually, the cat finishes drinking its fill of water, and hops back down off of the counter to rub up against April's shins once more. 

"Now will you get out of my house?"

The cat boops her shin with its nose, and then turns to stalk out of the house. 

"Bye! Go be cute at someone who cares!"

The cat settles into its spot on the loveseat, stretching and relaxing, then curling up for a nap. 

It takes her a minute to get up and close the door because she's busy playing Candy Crush.

So, same time next week?

Same time next week! The cat is still there, on its back, batting at dust motes lit up in the sunlight, but it turns to look at April when the door opens, and jumps down to rub against her legs when the door is closed. 

"Slacker," she says, but she sounds almost affectionate.

The cat boops its cold nose against her shin and goes back to rubbing up against her legs. 

"Flatter me all you like, you're still not getting any bacon."

The cat is just a cat and so has no ability to understand the word bacon, and so has no reason to change its behavior when it hears the word. It just continues rubbing up against April's legs before jumping back up into its patch of sunlight in a loaf to watch her leave. 

She goes, she comes back, she opens the door to let in the cat for the Grocery Inspection.

And the cat wanders inside without a care in the world, as though it belongs here. 

It settles down into its corner to stretch out and watch. 

And lo, there is bacon!

The cat perks its head up and meows softly when she takes the bacon out of the bag, staring at it intensely. 

"Why do you do this to yourself? You and I both know what comes next."

She puts the bacon in the fridge.

The cat meows morosely and puts its head back down and starts licking its paw. 

"You have only yourself to blame."

The cat is a cat, and so cannot understand her, and keeps licking its paw. 

A few more groceries make their way into the cupboards, and then she says, "All right, clear out unless you're planning to start paying rent."

The cat finishes washing itself and hops up onto the countertops, looking at the faucet and then at April. 

Eyeroll. "Fiiiiiine." She turns on the tap.

The cat laps at the stream of water, turning its head sideways and lapping out its tongue repeatedly for several minutes as it drinks its fill. 

April sighs and sits down at her kitchen table to play Candy Crush.

Eventually, the cat finishes drinking its fill, and jumps down off of the kitchen counter, moving to rub up against her thighs, softly purring.

"I'm being buttered up by a fuzzy freeloader."

The cat purrs in agreement, (not that it can understand can understand her, of course, it's just a cat), and then tenses and hops up into April's waiting lap to curl up there, purring even more contentedly. 

"Ack—aww, c'mon—"

She splutters a bit, but refrains from any sudden movements after her initial startled jerk.

"I really feel like this can't be a healthy relationship," she mutters. "All I do is show you food you can't eat and then kick you out of my house. Is this normal to you? I think you need higher standards."

One hand tentatively comes to rest on the cat.

The cat purrs and rubs itself up against her hand, nestling even more deeply into her lap. 

"Quit being so cozy, you're harshing my groove."

The cat cannot possibly understand what she's saying, being just a cat, and has no reason to do anything but continue to curl up cozily in her lap and purr at the hand softly resting on it. Though if it could understand her it would be quite happy at the current situation. 

"I have shit to do today, man, you can't just take a nap on me." But she makes no move to evict the creature. "Dammit."

The cat, being just a cat, cannot understand her, and so does not tilt its head in amused laughter. (It also doesn't pump its fist in the air in victory like a human would, as it doesn't have fists, among other reasons. Its paws are occupied.) Instead, it shifts slightly to put its head against her stomach, and purrs, and closes its eyes to take a restful nap. 

If only the cat were looking and also literate, it could catch April googling 'how to get a cat out of your lap' on her phone.

"Half these people are asking how to get a cat into your lap," she grumbles. "That's literally the opposite of my problem, guys."

The cat yawns, stretches a little, and curls up even more cozily in her lap, as though making sure to be extra comfy for her. 

"Flattery. Seduction. Espionage," she says, grumpy but also trying not to laugh. "You're a criminal."

The cat simply nestles warmly in her lap, purring softly as it naps. 

"...fine. Ten minutes, then I'm kicking you out whether you like it or not."

She goes back to playing Candy Crush.

The cat has no argument with that, and continues napping and purring softly. 

Ten minutes later, she gives the cat an experimental nudge.

"Hey you. Time to get out of my house."

The cat yawns and stretches, nuzzling against her lap. It looks up at her with one eye half-open. 

"Yes, you. Get lost."

The cat stretches and yawns, in no particular hurry, purring a little bit more, before hopping down from April's lap and padding nonchalantly through the house towards the open door. 

"You can't make me your mom just by showing up at my house and refusing to leave," she calls grumpily after it.

The cat cannot understand her, because it is a cat, and so certainly cannot think things like "wanna bet" to itself. And it can't be amused by the situation either, though once it's back up on its usual perch there will be no one to see it shudder and open its mouth in amusement and delight, before curling up for more nap -- which of course it doesn't do, because it is a cat and a cat cannot understand human language. 

Indeed, April is not out there spying on the cat. She is going about her NORMAL LIFE that involves ZERO FELINES.

...so, same time next week, then?

Same time next week! 

The cat perks itself up as she exits the house, and hops down to softly rub itself against her calves, purring gently. 

"I don't know how you're managing to find this masochistic ritual of yours so endearing."

The cat presses its cold nose against her leg and goes back to rubbing against her warmly. 

"C'mon, get out of my way, I need to go get groceries."

The cat rubs up against her a little bit more, then hops back up onto the porch swing and curls up for a short nap. 

All right, a-grocerying she goes.

"My groceries are exclusively boring this week unless you have a secret love for Pop-Tarts," she warns the cat on her way back into the house. "You probably can't even safely eat Pop-Tarts."

The cat cannot understand her and follows her inside regardless, settling down to lounge in its customary place in a loaf. 

"Yeah, yeah."

The prophecy is fulfilled: there are no eggs and no bacon.

Alas. There is still a faucet, however, which the cat begs for in the usual fashion after jumping onto the counter once the food has been put away. 

"Fiiiiine."

The cat bops affectionately at her hand with its nose as she turns the faucet on, then turns its head sideways to lap at the stream of water with its tongue, drinking thirstily.  

"I'm being conned somehow, I can feel it."

The cat is a cat and cannot understand human speech to react. And even if it could, it's doing something far more important -- drinking its fill of water. Which it continues to do. 

She sighs and sits down to play Candy Crush. "I'm gonna wake up one morning and you'll have stolen all my socks to commit cat crimes, or some damn thing," she grumbles.

The cat continues drinking for a little while longer, and then jumps down off the counter and back up onto her comfortable and waiting lap and begins kneading on one of her legs, gently purring as it does so. 

"...what. Why. I am not a pillow."

The kneading continues for several more seconds, before the cat stretches and curls up comfortably on her lap, still purring. 

"I have done nothing for you but grudgingly exhibit basic decency. Why are you like this."

The cat has nothing to say to this, but instead naps in April's lap, purring contentedly. 

"Fine, I guess I can't stop you." She resumes playing Candy Crush.

And the cat will continue to cozily nap in her lap. 

April has no recourse but to put up with this.

Can she successfully nudge the cat awake ten minutes later?

She can, though the cat will respond to this, at least to begin with, by nuzzling affectionately against her hand. 

"Wake up, sleepyhead, it's time for your weekly Getting The Fuck Out Of My House."

The cat cannot understand human language, and so has a perfect excuse for why it continues rubbing up against her hand and purring instead of getting up and leaving. 

"Fuzzy little home invader. C'mon." Poke poke. The pokes are not actually that bothersome, because she's being pretty careful not to actually hurt the cat.

The cat does eventually get the message, and hops up off her lap, and unhurriedly pads its way back towards the door. 

"And good riddance!"

She closes the door behind it.

Next week when April leaves the house once again, she'll find the cat napping on the loveseat in a warm beam of sunshine. It opens one eye at the sound of the door opening and watches her. 

"G'morning, Doorstep Delinquent. Dreaming of crimes?"

The cat has no response to this other than to keep its open eye open, and continue to watch her. 

She locks her door and trundles off as usual.

And the cat watches her go, and settles back into its sunbeam to continue its nap. 

And soon enough she trundles back with groceries.

"It's time for Grocery Inspection, you utter weirdo," she says as she hauls the cart up to the door and fishes for her keys.

The cat stretches, perks up its head, and hops off the cushion to stand next to April and wait while she opens the door. As soon as the door is opened it enters, as though the door had been opened just for it and not for any other reason. 

"The bearing of a queen and the manners of a burglar." She pulls the cart inside. "You know, it's really inconvenient having to leave the door open for you every week. I'd get a cat door, but then you'd just sneak in and shit on my floor at all hours, and then where would I be?"

The cat cannot understand human language and even if it could cannot speak it to argue with her, and so settles into its usual corner and starts meticulously washing a paw, waiting to see what has been purchased this time. 

This week there's both bacon and eggs!

"Don't get excited, I'm still not feeding you."

The cat, having no way to understand her, still perks up, especially when the bacon goes by. It meows at her plaintively, eyes tracking the package with need. 

"The answer is still no!"

The cat meows again when the package is put away, then looks elsewhere and goes back to cleaning a paw. 

"Uh-huh." The eggs are next, and after that the fridge is closed while she puts away pasta and snacks.

The eggs get a pleading glance but no meow, and once they're put away the cat goes back to cleaning its paw until she's done. 

She sighs grumpily and turns on the faucet without being asked.

The cat perks up when it hears the sound of the water, and brushes up against her legs with a purr before jumping up onto the countertop to drink its fill. 

April makes a sarcastic face and leans against the counter to play Candy Crush. Can't jump into her lap if she has no lap!

The cat pays her no mind and continues drinking for a few minutes, then jumps back down and rubs up against her legs again, purring contentedly. 

"Yeah, yeah." She turns off the faucet.

The cat will continue showing her affection while purring for several minutes unless April does something to remove it from the current situation. 

"Dammit, if I sit down you're just going to sleep on me, aren't you. Why are you like this?"

The cat is a cat and so cannot understand human language, and therefore will continue giving affection as though it hasn't heard anything. 

"What if I need a nap. What if I need you to get out of my house so I can go have a nap. What then."

The cat still certainly cannot understand her, so a perfectly reasonable number of seconds after she says that it stops rubbing up against her legs, and pads off... towards the stairs. Which it unhurriedly climbs, to take a look at what things are up there, including her bedroom. 

"Oh, for crying out loud." She follows the cat. "This is not nap-compatible behaviour! You better not mess with my stuff."

The cat wanders through the upstairs, poking its way through every open door until it finds the bedroom, where it will do a small circuit of the room, observing everything there is to see. 

April is watching closely for misbehaviour.

The cat pokes her nose into nearly everything on ground level, but is polite enough to stay off the furniture, including the rumpled bed, at least for now. Satisfied, it rubs up against April's legs and purrs, and then heads back out into the hall to head back down the stairs. 

"...acceptable."

The cat traverses back down the stairs with ease, and heads out the front door to hop up onto its usual perch on the porch swing. 

April closes the door firmly behind it.

A few days later, she leaves the house for non-grocery reasons again.

The cat perks its head up when it hears the door opening, and hops down to rub up against her legs to greet her. 

"Yeah, yeah. No groceries today, I'm having a social life for once. Don't break into my house while I'm gone, it's rude."

The cat meows as though in acknowledgement (though of course it cannot understand what she is saying, as it is a cat), and continues rubbing up against her legs. 

"Help, I've been accosted by a furry purry tripping hazard."

The cat continues to rub up against her legs for several more seconds, and then finishes, stalking off to hop back up onto the loveseat and curl up cozily on the cushions. 

"Good morning to you too, you lazy bastard."

And she's off.

The cat closes its eyes for a nap as she leaves.

And is it still there three hours later?

It is! It's lying in a different position, but it's still there. 

Cool!

So, a car pulls up to the curb right outside April's house.

April gets out of the backseat, hauling a cat carrier behind her.

"Get in, loser, we're going to the vet."

"You can't talk to your cat that way," comes a laugh from the driver's seat.

"I can, I have, and I will."

The cat perks up at the noises, and hops down off the cushion to greet her, rubbing up against her legs. 

"Yes, hello to you too," she says, opening the cat carrier and setting it on the ground. "I need you to get in the box. Frankly I wouldn't get in the box if I were you, but here we are."

The cat presses its cold nose against her hand as she opens the door to the cat carrier, then saunters inside and curls up cozily. 

"Thank you for your cooperation."

She closes and latches the door, picks up the carrier as smoothly as she can, and gets it back into the car with a minimum of jostle.

The cat is mostly unperturbed by the little jostle that there is, and is happy to stay curled up in a nap with one eye open. 

The car gets going as soon as the door is closed and April's seatbelt is on.

"So, have you thought about names? The vet is going to want one."

"I mean, how am I going to name a cat whose gender I don't know?"

The cat cannot talk, and so cannot participate in this conversation. It can however turn it's head to look at April with its one open eye. 

"You could come up with two lists," she points out.

"I've been winging it since day one of this farcical relationship, why stop now?"

She snorts. "I still can't believe you let her worm her way into your heart."

She flicks the back of the driver's seat headrest with her fingertip.

"No," she says firmly. "Stop right there. My heart is uninvolved in this process."

"Oh, come on. Not even a little?"

"I am not a pets person! Pets are an obligation you can't put down! They're like children, except worse, because instead of growing up into adults they just die on you after a couple decades! But, as you pointed out, I have this fuzzy toddler now whether I like it or not, and so here I am being responsible about it no matter how much I hate this!"

"...whew. Sorry."

The cat still cannot participate in this conversation, but it can perk up and go to the door of the cage and see if April's hand is close by enough for it to lick. Because it's a cat and cats do things like that, of course. Not because it wants to comfort her about the feelings she's having which the cat cannot understand, being just a cat. 

Not initially, but after her outburst she settles back into using the cat carrier as an armrest, leaving her fingertips dangling within lickable range.

Then the cat will gently lick at one of her fingers. 

"Augh," she says. "Sandpaper tongue! Sandpaper which is also toilet paper, if I recall correctly!"

"You have such a way with words. You're going to have to get used to the ways of feline affection, you know."

"I'm going to have to get used to washing my hands a lot," she grumbles.

The cat stays at the door of the cat carrier for a few more seconds, in case the fingers come in range again, and then curls up comfortably once more. 

She sighs.

"It's not your fault," she says to the cat carrier. "Well, I mean, a lot of this is your fault, technically speaking. But it's not your fault that you're a cat. I can get used to washing my hands a lot."

The cat has no response to any of this, and simply goes back to napping. 

Daisy drums her fingers on the steering wheel.

"You know, I don't want to promise anything, but if you really don't want a cat..."

"Put to rest any plans you have that involve keeping a lid on this little delinquent against its will. Did I tell you it broke into my house once while I was out getting groceries? Weirdly polite about it, though."

"Please, for my sake, stop calling your cat 'it'."

"Well I'm not going to find out what else to call it without an inspection I decline to perform, so we'll just have to wait for the medical professionals on that one."

"Anyway, do you really have that much faith in kitty's escape artist powers?"

"See, even you are reduced to neopronouns. And yes, absolutely."

The kitty in question yawns, stretches, and starts meticulously cleaning a paw.

"That wasn't a neopronoun! It was just a regular noun!"

"I'm not sure that's true, but I don't know enough about grammar to dispute it."

"Ha, I win." She's pulling into a parking lot. "Okay, we're here."

When the car stops, the cat perks up, doing its best to look at the window, but it's not particularly well oriented to do so. It can see a parking lot and some trees, but that's all for now, and will probably see more once April takes it out of the car. 

Hup.

"You're heavy," she grumbles.

From what the cat can see outside the holes in the cat carrier as it's carried along, they're in a parking lot at a place with a lot of various shopping buildings scattered around, conjoined together or standing alone, with the one big parking lot serving them all. There's a smaller brick building that April is carrying the cat towards, with large signs on the top. The veterinarian that April is going towards is located between an acupuncture place and a nail salon. There's a short stairwell leading up to the door, and a longer wheelchair ramp next to it, with a dark-green painted metal railing running up the sides. 

She huffs her way up the steps in Daisy's wake.

The door opens onto a small waiting room, much like one in a doctor's office, though doctor's offices don't have pets in the waiting rooms. The room is painted a pale and unoffending blue, and the chairs along the outside of the room are padded but clearly inexpensive. There are two people sitting in them, one with a dog with a head nestled between her legs, and a man with a cat carrier of his own. One wall has a door in it to one side, and next to it is a curved wooden desk built into the corner of the office. The receptionist looks up from her computer as they enter. 

"Welcome to the Second Street Veterinary Clinic," she says. "Do you-- oh, Daisy! Dr. Kelly told me you'd be coming here with someone new, and they'd have a new friend! Can I see? If you don't mind," she adds, hurriedly.  

"Sure." She hoists the carrier awkwardly into view.

The cat presses its face against the bars gently, so the receptionist can get a better look. 

"Well, look how pretty they are!" the receptionist says. "A little bedraggled, perhaps, but that's understandable, if they're a stray, but they're such a well behaved one, look at that? Aren't you, pretty!" She grins and stares with obvious joy at the cat in the carrier. Then, she turns back to April and Daisy, still smiling. "I have some paperwork for you to fill out, and I'm sure Daisy can help you with any of the parts you're not sure about. The doctor will be to see new friend as soon as she's available, and you can fill out the rest of this while she does." She pulls out a clipboard and a few pieces of paper, putting them into place with practiced precision as she speaks, before handing it over to April. "Let me know when you're done, thanks!" 

"Hoo boy."

She finds somewhere to sit where she can set down the carrier, leaving Daisy to pick up the paperwork and follow.

"All right, let's see what we're up against here..." She scrutinizes the form as she passes it over.

The top page is for her own personal contact information, her name and telephone number and email address and such, for their records, though there is also a spot for the pet's name. Further pages are for the pet's medical history and vaccinations and such, most of which do have a box to check for "Unknown". 

She checks a lot of Unknown boxes, and leaves the name field blank for now, pending certain crucial information about the cat.

After a few minutes of form filling out, a short woman in blue scrubs comes out of the door. Her hair is pulled back behind her head, revealing a friendly smile. She looks around, sees Daisy, and heads towards her and her friend. 

"Hey, Daisy," she says, with a small wave, and turns towards the woman she's pretty sure is April. "April, right?" she asks putting out her hand to shake. "I'm Dr. Kelly Branson, but you can call me Dr. Kelly if you'd like. It's very nice to meet you." 

"It's nice to meet you too," she says, shaking the vet's hand with only moderate awkwardness.

The doctor is practiced at this, her handshake is firm but warm. "So, Daisy told me you have a stray that's adopted you? I'm glad I could squeeze you in today, let me take a look at them." She leans over and peers into the cat carrier. 

The cat peers back at her, putting one paw on the door, staring at her carefully. 

"Well, they're beautiful," the vet says. "They doesn't seem to have a collar or anything, and we'll check for a microchip. They must have belonged to someone once, given how well behaved they look. Are you sure that no one has come looking for it or anything?" She's still looking carefully at the cat as she says this. 

"Yeah, nothing like that. My going theory is that it used to live at my house and its previous owners moved away or died and it escaped wherever it ended up and then came back 'home', but, you know, I made all of that up and have no idea how plausible it is."

Kelly nods and smiles at her. "Well, let me take them in the back, and see what I can find out about them. We'll see if they're eating right and don't have any parasites or anything. Do they have a name I can call them? Oh, and did you want to put a microchip in, if there isn't one? There should be a form in there somewhere for that." 

"I haven't picked a name yet because I don't know the gender and it just seems weird. I... don't know about a microchip. I'll think about it."

The doctor nods and smiles. "I'll let you know their sex when I bring them back. And I would suggest microchipping, especially if they're an outdoor cat, since that will help them get back to you if they get lost, but let me take your beautiful animal and give them a full checkup first." She reaches down and picks up the carrier. "See you in about an hour!" 

"See you!" she says, trying for 'cheerful' and landing somewhere around 'awkward and tired'.

Daisy pats her on the shoulder.

About an hour and twenty minutes later the doctor comes back, cat in tow in the carrier. 

The cat is curled up inside the carrier, but it perks up its head when it sees April. 

"She was very well behaved," Kelly tells them as she puts the carrier down on the table next to the two of them. "Extremely well behaved. If I hadn't heard it from you, I'd never have believed she was a stray. She seems quite healthy, no parasites or injuries or anything like that. The blood tests and such will take a little while longer, but I suspect all of those will come back clean, but we'll email you with the results when they come in." 

"So, girl cat?" she says, gazing contemplatively into the carrier.

"Yup! Girl cat. And already spayed, too, so you don't need to worry about that. You should probably pick a name to put on the form, now that you know." She smiles brightly. "Also, she didn't have a microchip or any other form of identification, so she's yours to keep. Did you put any thought into whether or not you'd like her to be microchipped? I'd be happy to take her back and do it, it won't take very long." 

"Pet ownership is an ethical nightmare," she grumbles, mostly to herself.

"There, there," says Daisy, without looking up from her phone.

The cat has nothing to contribute to this conversation, and curls back up, watching April. 

"Ethical nightmare?" the doctor asks. "If there's anything you're worried about microchipping, do feel free to ask. I'd be happy to set your mind at ease with any concerns you might have." 

"The concern I have is that I can't ask the cat what she thinks about the situation and I really don't think you can set my mind at ease about it unless you're secretly a Disney princess and can talk to cats."

The cat has no reasonable way to communicate that she would be perfectly fine with a microchip, and even if it could there's no reason why she would answer the question, as she is a cat and cannot understand human speech. So it waits in the carrier, unable to even rub up against April to comfort her. 

"I am not a Disney princess," the vet says with a small smile, "or a Doctor Dolittle, or anything of the sort. My job would be much easier if I were." She sighs wistfully. "From what I have seen, though, is that when a cat gets lost, and a microchip helps it find its way home, the cat is generally quite happy to be back where it belongs, where it can be safe and fed and loved. The procedure is mostly painless -- about as painful as the blood draw I did earlier -- and won't impede their daily life in any way." 

"Pets are like children but woooorse," she whines. But then she shakes her head. "Okay, okay. There's no arguing that she definitely wants to be in my house. I might as well make it easier for her. —do I have to come up with a name first?"

The veterinarian shakes her head. "All that's stored on the chip is an identification number. There's a computer database somewhere that matches the id to whatever information you've provided, so it can be updated easily when you move and such. You just have to fill out the form, and we'll take care of that part for you." She leans down to pick up the carrier. "I'll be back in a few minutes, all right? And feel free to think of a name while I'm gone!" she calls out as she heads back through the door. 

"Naming things is bad and stupid," she announces.

"Pick something funny," Daisy suggests. "Cats can't tell when they're being mocked."

"Hmm."

Her mood lightens a bit. After some thought, she writes something down on the form.

After the promised few minutes, (perhaps closer to ten) the vet returns, cat in carrier in hand, and sets it down on the table next to April. 

The cat is curled up in her carrier, looking very much like she's glad they're done with this ordeal and is ready to go home. 

"All done!" The doctor says. "Did you decide on a name yet?" 

"Pippi Longstocking. Because she's an independent ginger who does what she wants."

Kelly tilts her head in thought for a moment, trying to place the reference. "That's... a children's book, right? Still, if she's anything like you'd describe, that sounds very much like a cat." 

She smiles again. "In any case, thank you very much for coming in! I'm glad your new cat has a home. Please turn in your paperwork to Katy at the front desk when you're done, and we'll send you the results of all of our tests soon. It was very nice to meet you!" 

And then she turns to another person, dog sitting on the floor next to them, and starts talking to them. 

She checks over the form to make sure she hasn't missed anything obvious, and makes Daisy check over the form for her to make double sure, and then hands it in at the front desk and lugs Pippi back out to the car.

"Time to buy cat supplies!" Daisy says brightly.