We live in a lovely two-bedroom apartment with a great location that overlooks a creek, is two blocks from mountains and orchards, and is within 30 seconds walking distance from almost any amenity you could possibly want – a grocery store, my hair dresser, our doctors, two drug stores, a movie rental place, a dollar store, a pub, Tim Horton’s, etc, etc, etc…. We couldn’t ask for a better pad, and have decided that this is where we’d like to continue living until we can eventually afford a house. The only problem is that it’s a no pet building.

J has lived in this building for 10 years, while I have been living here for just over 3. About 6 years ago, a friend of J’s was moving to Vancouver and asked him if he could take care of her cat, Marlowe, for a little while until she got settled in. Well, as it turns out, her boyfriend who she moved in with was allergic. She called J sobbing, asking if he could please keep her sweet pet, because she knew that J would give him a good home. About a year later, as J was taking Marlowe to the vet, he bumped into our landlord in the parking lot. J explained the situation and told our landlord that he was looking to find a home for the cat, but so far hadn’t had any luck. Our landlord told J, “Well… as long as you’re telling me that you’re trying to find him a new home, that’s okay.” J said his tone was very tongue in cheek.

A few years later, J n’ I moved in together. It’s important to mention that I had two cats – Emmy and Luna (better known as Tuna. Hm, did I just hear a collective, “Ah ha!”? Yes, I’m sure you can all see where this story is going now…)

Okay, so to be honest, I protested a good while before moving in with J. First, I wasn’t crazy on moving into an apartment that had been occupied by two bachelors for so many years. J’s pretty good at cleaning, but Bro is kinda… well, not. Secondly, I really enjoyed my independence. I lived in a super cute little house, and this was the first time in my life I had ever lived alone before. I’ve always had roommates since I was 18. I really enjoyed this new-found freedom. Third, I had Emmy and Tuna, and J had Marlowe, and we would be living in a no pet building. It just didn’t seem wise. It might be easy enough to hide one cat… but three?!

However, J, worrier that he is, really didn’t like me living alone downtown in a carriage house. (For those of you who don’t know, a carriage house is a house that shares the property with a regular house, except it faces the alley. They’re really popular out here, and many of them are pretty new and very nice, like mine was. But I know that when one says “alley” it often provokes imagery of tool sheds and shacks… but this was not the case.) Anyhow, after all of our dates, J would *always* try to get me to take his “fish bonker” for protection. It belonged to his dad, but somehow ended up in his car. I didn’t want to keep a weapon by my bed… especially a silly little fish bonker bat. I felt that if I had a weapon, that meant that I would have to use it… or worse yet, it might be used on me. I felt safe in my little alley house… that is until one day when the RCMP showed up at my door, asking if I had witnessed the fatal stabbing out on the street near my house. From then on, I had trouble sleeping. When I did sleep, I’d dream that I was lying awake in bed all night, listening or watching out the window for murders and thieves in the alley. J’s paranoia and my neighbour’s random murder (which was over a cigarette lighter, of all things…) had gotten the better of me. I was finally ready to move.

J n’ I lived for a year in his apartment with Bro, before moving upstairs into our own place. Marlowe eventually became very ill and we were forced to put him down. So now all that’s left is Emmy and Tuna… neither of whom our landlord has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

We have always done well at hiding les chats. For instance, a couple years ago they were renovating everyone’s balconies, which meant that our landlord and some construction guys had to be in and out of our apartment for three days. In that time we developed a routine that has worked very well any time the landlord has needed in our place. We put all their toys and scratching posts in our bedroom closet, and then put the two cats, their food dishes and litter box in our bedroom bathroom. We’ll then put a towel under the door to the bedroom bathroom, and turn on the radio. Then we’ll close our bedroom door, with another towel lined along the inside of that doorframe. Then we vacuum and Febreeze the house right before he needs in. It has always worked like a charm. We’re sure our landlord probably still knew that we had pets… or at least Marlowe… but he seemed to have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy.

Even so, every day we come home from work, my eyes always scan the door for a note that says, “Get rid of the cats”. It’s not that I live in a constant state of fear, but it’s a legitimate concern. I mean, we’re totally breaking the rules X 2. But we don’t want to move, and we don’t want to get rid of our babies either.

Anyhow, last night as we drove home from work, a fleeting through rushed through my mind. “Everything is going so great... too great… I wonder what could go wrong? What kind of drama could suddenly pull the rug out from beneath us?” Don’t ask me why I had this thought, because it’s usually not like me to think something so randomly negative.

But of course, as you can guess, while walking up the hall to our apartment, J pointed out, “There’s a note in the doorframe.” As he rushed towards the door, I quickly scanned the other doors in the hallway, hoping that there was a notice for everyone… but there wasn’t. There was only a note for us. Sh*t!!! We both knew...

The note read, “Please call me when you have a chance. Thanks.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

My heart pounded. We don’t want to move. We don’t want to get rid of our pets. But we did break the rules, and we have no one to blame but ourselves.

J n’ I discussed our options of what we could say… Maybe we could offer an extra damage deposit of $1000 in case he worried about the cats causing damage. (Not like we exactly have $1000 in pocket chance lying around, but we were just brainstorming.) Next we Googled the laws to see if he could kick us out for having pets. Then, we crafted an argument that we’re great tenants, J has been there for 10 years, we hope to buy a house within the next couple of years… maybe we can work something out. Finally, it was time to just pull the Bandaid.

J called the landlord.

“So, I was just wondering where we left off with that cat situation?” Landlord began in a conversational tone.

J apologised that he never intended to make a mockery of landlord’s policies and explained that he still hasn’t found someone to take Marlowe. (A lie since Marlowe has been gone for a couple years… but J was counting on landlord not knowing the difference. He never actually saw Marlowe – just his cat carrier.) J explained that we don’t want to move and offered a damage deposit. Landlord agreed that we are excellent tenants and he doesn’t want to cause us any problems. However, it’s not that he’s worried about the damage -- instead he was forced to call because someone complained that they saw our cat in the window, and if we could have a cat, how come they couldn’t have a cat. That’s when it starts causing problems for him.

Ack… the bastids! (Although, I can’t say that I blame them… it really isn’t fair.)

We knew right away it was our lil’ brat Tuna who had been the culprit. She’s always trying to get into our bedroom window, and because we’re in a corner suite, you can see that window from the path along the creek.

J admitted to our landlord that he has been pretty lax at trying to get rid of the cat. He wants Marlowe to have a good home, and doesn’t want to give him away to just anyone.

However, I should point out that not once did landlord say “You have to get rid of the cat.” Instead he kept saying, “Hopefully we can find a solution.” J offered that in the meantime we could just make sure that the cat didn’t get into the window. Landlord agreed that would be a great start. He then said that he’ll let the two of us talk it over and figure something out between ourselves, and will give us a call sometime next week.

So, here we sit at a crossroads. It’s interesting because J is one of the most moral people I know, and would never suggest a lie… and yet, he got the impression that as long as we could keep the cats out of the windows, Landlord would be just as satisfied to hear a lie, so he could return to the other tenants and say that we’ve got rid of them, or found a solution, or whatever he wants to say. Again, not once did he say “you have to move” or “you must get rid of the cat”… he just kept repeating, “Well, hopefully we can find a solution.” So I’d say, keeping them out of the windows is a pretty good solution, right?

*Sigh*

I’m not going to worry too much about it right now. We’ve got a week to figure it out. In the meantime, out of sheer curiosity, I looked into the rentals online to see what else was available, and I can tell you… there ain’t nuttin’! Anything in our price range either doesn’t accept pets (of course), or it’s not as nice as the place we have now. If we had a few extra hundred to spare each month, we could rent ourselves a nice house… but then there goes any extra savings for actually BUYING a house in the future. Plus, between this big career change and our wedding… the LAST thing we want to do right now is to move.

Oh well… like I said, I’m not going to worry too much about it right now. Whatever happens, happens. I’m sure we’ll find the right solution when the time comes.