If there’s one thing that drew me to Portland, it’s the abundance of furry animal friends that are frequently walked by strangely dressed pedestrians. So it isn’t hard to imagine my disappointment when I found out that my new apartment has outlawed any and all pets on their premises. This is a policy which they have enforced with a portrait of a frowning dog with the italicized word “NO” underneath.

My wife and I have a cat named Georgie Fruit who, although in no way capable of hurting a fly – especially seeing that he is now de-clawed and is far to lazy to go after a fly – is actually quite vocal and goes to often extreme measures to plea for food. Once he actually rolled on top of Beth’s computer in the middle of the night and fervently typed a long series of B’s and Q’s followed by the word “bnz,” completing what I suspect is his attempt to order BBQ beans. I have yet to find the order show up in a grease stained envelope, yet I still check my box each morning.

Georgie is perhaps more precious to us than a human child, and seeing as how we are the only provider of said beans, Beth and I decided he must be part of the apartment.

“Keep him secret,” she whispered, as I frantically struggled to shove him inside a cardboard box. “Keep him safe.”

I nodded knowingly in agreement. After carrying the awkwardly wobbling and meowing box into our new home, we released Georgie to explore his new environment, which mainly resulted in him making a b-line to the kitchen where he attempted to shove his entire body into a mouse hole we never noticed.

Knowing he would be preoccupied for a while we went about our business. It wasn’t until five in the morning that he began meowing and clawing at the front door, perhaps suspecting that his order had finally arrived. We worried that our neighbors would suspect something was off, and rather than attempt to convince my landlord that I frequently awake at early hours to scratch against the wall and pretend I’m a cat, I instead decided to stand in front of the door in my boxers and spray Georgie whenever he came near with a bottle of Windex.

Everyone wins, I thought. Georgie gets to stay here AND he smells like a forest of pine trees. Bonus.

Now in fear of the bottle of Windex and a pair of boxers I have left by the door, Georgie doesn’t dare come near. However, we have finally given into his demands and relinquished a full bowl of food for him to enjoy each day — perhaps even with some BBQ beans on the side. It’s all about compromise.

I think that sometimes we all have to battle the metaphorical man in his boxers with a bottle of Windex and realize that he’s really there to protect us. Moving to a new place isn’t easy, but it’s full of adventure and new opportunities. Sometimes there are things that are simply off limits, but at the same time, there are so many better things that are there for us as well. It might just take a spray to the face to get the message. As for me and Georgie, I think we’re both glad that we’re here.