The Tenant Who Never Left

Being a leasing agent can be unpredictable, but it’s rarely this unpredictable. One morning, I was preparing for a routine showing of a recently-vacated unit when I encountered the most bizarre situation of my career: a cat. And not just any cat. A very grumpy cat.

It all started when I arrived at the apartment. It was empty, just as I expected—aside from the usual remnants of previous tenants: a few forgotten takeout menus, an old carpet stain, and a mysterious sock wedged between the radiator and the wall. I did my usual check of the unit, making sure everything was in order before the prospective tenants arrived.

That’s when I heard it. A low, disgruntled meow coming from somewhere in the apartment. I froze. The place was supposed to be vacant. Was someone hiding in the closet?

I tiptoed around, trying to locate the sound. It was coming from the kitchen. I approached the cabinet and slowly opened the door.

There, perched on top of the fridge like a tiny, furry king, was the angriest-looking cat I had ever seen. Its eyes were wide with suspicion, and it glared at me as though I had interrupted the most important moment of its life.

I froze.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How did a cat get in here?

Well, it turns out, the previous tenant—who had recently moved out—was “taking care of” a friend’s cat while they were on vacation. But when they left, they forgot to take the cat with them. So, the little guy had been living in the apartment solo for a few days, likely eating whatever crumbs he could find and silently judging every choice I made.

I immediately called the property manager to report the feline surprise. “Uh, so… there’s a cat here. Can we… uh… do something about it?”

After a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line, the property manager replied, “You sure it’s not just a stray?”

“Nope,” I said. “This one looks like it owns the place.”

We had a laugh, but no one was in a rush to come fetch the cat, so I was left to deal with the situation myself. In a weird way, I kind of became the cat’s caretaker for the next few hours. I managed to lure it down from the fridge with a bag of chips (yes, chips), but it was clear this cat was having none of it.

I opened the door to the vacant unit, trying to coax the little feline out, but it just stared at me with disdain. Eventually, it sauntered out—more of a royal procession than a “get away”—and flopped onto the floor like I had just ruined its perfectly planned day.

The showings went on without a hitch (apart from the cat-related drama), and the property manager finally showed up to collect the furry tenant. But the real kicker?

The prospective renters arrived just as I was shooing the cat out, and I had to act super casual about it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a… pet left behind by the previous tenant. It’s no big deal. Let’s focus on the beautiful hardwood floors and spacious closet space!”

The prospective tenants, bless them, didn’t even blink. They took the tour, nodded politely, and eventually signed the lease. But every time I showed that unit afterward, I couldn’t help but wonder if the cat was still hiding somewhere in the walls, silently judging my every move.

Moral of the story? Always double-check that your human tenants take everything with them when they leave… because you never know what kind of fur-tastic surprises you might