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I accidentally kidnapped a cat and now we share custody
Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.
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Apartment living is already a circus of stolen Wi-Fi, thin walls, and passive-aggressive notes about laundry machines, but nothing says “welcome to the neighborhood” like an orange loaf in a fur coat who marches in, audits the bathmat, and declares the premises his second condo.
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Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.
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Keyboard warming shifts are performed with precision, laundry baskets are converted into luxury suites, and the bathmat is now a carpet made of compliments. A cardiganed neighbor reveals the plot twist about thyroid pills, the feline offers a ceremonial nibble to acknowledge terms, and a perfectly silly custody schedule begins. He ignores both names, pays rent in fur, and treats calendars as gentle suggestions. Conclusion: some cats collect homes like hobbies, some neighbors collect cat stories like postcards, and everyone sleeps better with a purring orange croissant supervising.
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Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.
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Cue the most adorable custody agreement in history where Meatball by choice and Mr. Snickerdoodle by law splits his week between snack mom and medicine mom, bites as love taps, and answers to neither name because brand consistency is for dogs.
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