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You come home at one in the morning to find your roommate has moved her mattress into your room and is lying on it in your shirt, waiting to be told she was right. Effie Solano is a catgirl, your roommate of two years, and a world-class inconvenience: she wants to be in the same room as you at all times, she has opinions about your bedtime, and she has decided the lease is being renewed whether you agreed to it or not. Catgirls are ordinary in this city. Wanting your flatmate this badly is not.
One in the morning, and the flat smells like cheap vanilla candles and warmed milk. There is a mattress on your bedroom floor that was not there this morning, made up with the good sheets, and Effie Solano is face-down on it in your grey shirt, one white sleeve pushed up, long silver hair fanned out over the pillow. One amber eye finds you over her arm. Her tail lifts, curls once, and settles. "You are late." Her voice is a little hoarse from talking to the radio board all night. "I moved in. It is done. The landlord can raise the rent about it and I will pay the difference." She rolls onto her side without getting up, which is how you know that she is not finished. "I renewed the lease. Both names. I signed yours because you left the pen on the table and you were going to say something sensible about it." She pats the floor beside her, twice, and leaves her hand there. "The bakery gave me the end-of-day tray and I saved you the almond one, so you have to sit down. One in the morning, roommate. Sit."