Arthur had always considered himself the master of his domain. He paid the mortgage, he managed the thermostat, and most importantly, he dispensed the finest, flakiest salmon pâté available on the market. His two tuxedo cats, Chairman Meow and Lady Purrington, were, in theory, his beloved companions. In reality, they were highly critical, tiny, velvet landlords, and he was currently standing on the wrong side of their lease agreement.
The problem, as with most of Arthur’s life issues, was carelessness. He had stepped onto the porch for a moment to retrieve a package, the door clicking shut behind him with the soft, terminal finality of a guillotine. His keys, wallet, and dignity were all securely inside.
He rattled the handle one last time, purely for the ceremonial defeat of it. Then he looked up at the bay window. .
There, perched on the custom-made window seat—a seat Arthur had purchased specifically to facilitate their maximum comfort and sun exposure—sat his two overlords.
Chairman Meow, a hefty black-and-white philosopher, was positioned regally, his gaze heavy with profound disappointment. Lady Purrington, sleeker and more emotionally manipulative, was busy cleaning a paw, occasionally pausing to send Arthur a withering side-eye that communicated exactly how low his current status was.
“Fellas,” Arthur began, leaning close to the thick glass, “Hello, my little perfect beings. My absolute favorites. You know I love you.”
The cats did not move. Their expressions suggested they were watching a particularly tedious infomercial about vacuum cleaners.
Arthur knew this game. He knew that with cats, any sign of vulnerability was met with tactical apathy. He needed to appeal to their self-interest, but first, he had to break through the wall of their indifference.
He knocked gently on the window, a series of light taps. “Chairman? Lady P? Come on, guys. Daddy forgot his keys. I’m cold out here.”
Chairman Meow blinked slowly, the universal feline gesture for, ‘I acknowledge your existence, but your current predicament is neither novel nor entertaining.’ Lady Purrington continued her fastidious hygiene routine.
“Okay, okay,” Arthur sighed, adjusting his stance, trying to look less like a desperate vagrant peering into his own home and more like a benevolent provider momentarily displaced. “Let’s talk logistics. You know what time it is, right? It’s tuna time.”
That got a reaction.
Lady Purrington paused mid-lick, her ear twitching. Chairman Meow’s tail gave one slow, deliberate thump on the cushioned window seat. The idea of food was potent enough to cut through their disdain.
Arthur pressed his advantage, his voice rising in pitch to that pathetic, overly-sweet tone humans reserve only for their pets. “Yes! Tuna time! But the can opener… the can opener is inside, and I am outside. We have a problem, an us problem, actually. If I can’t get in, the delicious, flaky white tuna cannot come out. Simple physics, my little fuzzy economists.” .
The cats exchanged a long, silent, telepathic conversation—a communication Arthur had witnessed thousands of times and still found deeply unnerving. It always ended the same way: with him doing something humiliating.
Chairman Meow finally shifted, stretching languidly, emphasizing his bulk and comfort. He stared at the doorknob, then at Arthur, then back at the doorknob. His message was clear: The mechanism is there. You simply lack the authority to command it.
Arthur felt a chill creep up his spine, partly from the November air, but mostly from the crushing weight of their contempt. “Look, I know you don’t have opposable thumbs, but you’re smart! Lady P, you once opened the pantry door to steal a bag of catnip! Chairman, you figured out how to use the TV remote to put on nature documentaries!”
He pressed his hands against the window, lowering his face until he could practically smell the clean glass. “Just… can you nudge the key off the table? I left it right by the bowl, I swear! I’ll give you double tuna! The expensive tuna! The one with the little shrimp bits!” .
Lady Purrington finally stopped grooming. She simply stood up, arched her back in a long, satisfying stretch, and proceeded to slowly walk away from the window, her tail held high—the ultimate act of dismissal.
“No, wait! Lady P! Don’t go to the bedroom! That’s where the sun is! It’s too nice out here for me to be out here alone!” Arthur pleaded, his voice cracking.
Chairman Meow, the last line of defense against his human’s return, held the line for a few more seconds. He let out a single, sharp ‘Mrow?’ — an inquiry that sounded less like a question and more like a formal request for documentation proving Arthur’s right to re-entry. Satisfied that his petition was denied, the Chairman gave the window one last, theatrical glare, hopped down from the seat, and disappeared into the plush interior of the house.
Arthur stood alone in the cold silence, the only sounds the distant drone of traffic and the hammering of his own ridiculousness. He had begged two house cats, offering bribes and logical arguments, and they had rejected him as thoroughly and calmly as a bank rejecting a loan application.
He finally pulled his phone out of his coat pocket—the only thing he had managed to grab. His hands were shaking, not from cold, but from the realization of his place in the domestic hierarchy.
He called his neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, a sweet, slightly deaf woman who kept a spare key for emergencies.
“Hello, Mrs. Henderson? Yes, it’s Arthur. I seem to be locked out…”
He did not mention the negotiations with his cats. He did not mention the double tuna offer. He simply waited by the rose bushes, shivering, while inside, he imagined Chairman Meow and Lady Purrington taking a long, luxurious nap, completely secure in the knowledge that they were, and always would be, in charge.
When Mrs. Henderson arrived a few minutes later, she noticed Arthur’s distraught appearance. “Oh, dear, you look terrible,” she said kindly. “Was the door just locked?”
Arthur managed a weak smile. “It was… complicated, Mrs. Henderson. Let’s just say my housemates weren’t feeling particularly cooperative today.”
As he stepped back into the glorious warmth, the first thing he saw was Chairman Meow, now miraculously back on the window seat, looking at him with an expression of faint surprise, as if to say, ‘Well, look who the tide dragged in. Took you long enough.’ The tuna, Arthur knew, would have to wait until after he had paid his penance in chin scratches and gentle deference.
