Meet Cruiser. She’s the complex cat. Our apartment complex and yard is her domain. She doesn’t belong to anyone (that I know of), but instead gets affection and food from everyone. Except me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love on her as much as she’ll let me. But food? She’s conned me into that once, and she won’t again.

The day after Kirk and I moved in, I gave her some tuna. She ate half of it. Then, every morning for the next week, she came back meowing nonstop for more. She pawed at the door. She jumped onto the railing and stared me down through the windows. She followed me from the kitchen window to the living room window, and back again. She laid the guilt trip on hard.

She was already plump enough, mind you.

We understand each other now. She hangs out, with no more expectations of food. She lets me take her picture.

But, our apartment is still unexplored territory.

To let the breeze through, we often leave the front door open. This is very tempting.

Kirk and I are both allergic to cats. If I pet Cruiser, it’s easy for me to wash my hands. But washing the carpet is another thing. One paw is as far as she gets before I shoo her out.

Sorry, Cruiser, but my apartment is my domain. We compromise–at the welcome mat. ☼