Pets Not Allowed

A True Story

- Stef Dela Cruz

Eight months: that’s how long I’ve been looking for an apartment. For eight stressful months, I’ve been searching high and low for a decent place to live. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But I have three cats.

I usually feel disappointed whenever I see the words “no pets allowed” in an apartment ad, but I also understand. Landlords have every right to ban pets: their property, their rules. I know that they don’t want any trouble that an animal may cause.

My benign take on things changed, however, after I finally found the apartment I wanted—and realized I couldn’t rent it because of one cat lady.

The “cat person” who knows nothing about cats

When I opened the door to the two bedroom apartment I was checking out, I knew it was exactly what I was looking for. I had a feeling the cats would love lounging right in front of the huge sliding windows. I had a feeling the 80 square meters of gleaming, brand-new tiles— brand-new everything, really—would give me the headspace that I needed.

But it was the view that did it for me. Located on the top floor, the apartment made the otherwise-polluted city look fancier that it should be: a scenic skyline, a spattering of rooftops, and more trees than I ever hoped to see from a humble apartment window.

I knew it was time to ask the landlady if pets were allowed. I did not look forward to it; I loved the apartment so much that I dreaded what her answer would be.

“So… do you like cats?” was my tentative question.

“Oh, I’m a cat person!” she exclaimed. “I have eleven cats, total!”