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Tim knew who was at his door before the third bell had rung through the apartment. Doing his best to look contrite, he opened the door, to be met with Beans, his ginger long haired cat, being held like a ferret by a lady whose face was hidden from view.
Goddamn Beans.
“Uh. Hi,” Tim began lamely.
The cat remained still, at peace and content to be held by Tim’s next door neighbor.
“I really think you should keep your windows closed,” came the dry voice behind his cat. “As much as I enjoy finding your cat in my bathroom sink when I’m busting for a pee; I worry that one day he’ll go to another apartment in the building with less friendly occupants. Or fall off the fire escape.”
She had a point (scratch that, she was one hundred percent correct), and Tim sighed, reaching out his arms to take his cat. It meowed mournfully, not even wanting to be in his arms, and leapt down to the floor, returning to the apartment behind Tim to nap.
Tim groaned, and looked back at his blonde neighbor.
“It’s just this heat…” he weakly protested. “I don’t have a fan so -”
“Well,” she - not unkindly - interrupted, “maybe you should buy one.”
She was right, obviously. Tim knew he was not exactly being a responsible cat owner by providing gaps large enough for his overly friendly orange stray lump to go wandering, but he had something of an ulterior motive. It seemed Beans had fallen in love with the girl residing in number nine as much as Tim had.
She worked odd hours, Tim had learned, as if she were on call. Hospital? Maybe. She looked around his age though, maybe a little older.
It was a cliche, perhaps, to use his cat’s propensity for seeking out friendly faces in order to give an excuse to chat with the pretty girl next door, and yet…
The pair stared at each other. There were many things Tim wanted to say. That he liked her green plastic raincoat straight from the late 90s that was so bright it seemed to glow in the dark. That the way she skipped down and up the stairs like she was playing a game of hopscotch was as delightful as her smile as she did it. That he knew that it was the guy from number five who stole her underwear from the laundry room and Tim was currently conjuring a cunning plan to steal them back. He’d put them in a neat pile on one of the tumble dryers for her to ‘find’ of course.
He wasn’t a creep. Honest.
“Well, there you go. Bye,” she said, throwing Tim out of his musings.
“Wait!” Tim yelled at the back of her head, just a little too loud.
Her shoulders shot up to her ears and she turned, a suspicious look in her eyes. Tim scrambled to get his tone back down to normal. “Would you want to come in? See the mess he’s trying to escape. I can make you a coffee or something?”
His blonde neighbor peeked over his shoulder, spying the room and its (relative) normality. She looked again at Tim, lips pursed.
Mind racing, Tim tried to think of a tactic that would encourage her not to think of him as a weirdo.
A soft meow sounded from below, and the pair looked down. Beans, in his intelligence, had taken the moment to wind and headbutt the pair’s shins and ankles, rubbing and marking his territory.
Tim’s neighbor’s expression softened, smiling softly, she leaned down and picked up Beans, pressing kisses to his majestic mane of hair.
“I’m Stephanie,” she said, cradling the cat like a baby.
Beans, the bloody genius, lay contentedly in her arms. Tim stepped back, clearing the way for Stephanie to enter.
“I’m Tim.”