Fridge Magnet Lover
Charlotte had been living here for nearly a month and still hadn't met the young man sharing her apartment.
Their daily schedules were completely mismatched.
She'd heard from the landlady that he worked at an architecture firm—regular hours, plus the occasional business trip, mostly home in the evenings. Charlotte, on the other hand, was an illustrator at a comic studio, accustomed to heading in during the afternoon and not dragging herself home until four or five in the morning. By the time she woke up, it was usually past noon, and he'd already left for work.
So even though they lived under the same roof, both aware of each other's existence, they could never seem to cross paths.
At most, she'd hear him coming home late at night or leaving early in the morning, and occasionally, the faintest meow of a cat from his room.
Charlotte didn't mind the miss. Their mutually respectful, boundary-keeping arrangement seemed perfectly fine to her. Even on weekends when both of them were home, neither felt any particular urge to open their doors and introduce themselves.
As an ordinary person bearing the weight of daily life alone, simply keeping up with everyday chores already drained every ounce of her energy. For a stranger separated by just one wall, she couldn't muster the spare will to socialize.
---
Their first exchange was accomplished through fridge magnets.
The kitchen drain had been getting sluggish, clogged with months of accumulated grease, so the young man took it upon himself to clear it and even bought specialized drain cleaner. The instructions recommended not running water for several hours after use, so before leaving for work, he left a note on the fridge door reminding her not to use the kitchen tap for the time being.
Charlotte pulled the note from underneath a small house-shaped fridge magnet and read it carefully several times.
His handwriting was neat and elegant, the explanation clear and concise, and he'd even noted the specific time she could resume using the faucet. Thoughtful and meticulous, clearly.
As for the magnet holding the note to the fridge—a charming little house—Charlotte found it quite appealing too.
"This guy seems pretty reliable," she thought, amused. She fiddled with both note and magnet, then grabbed a sticky note of her own and drew a little cartoon girl bowing in thanks, sticking it on the fridge to express her gratitude for the drain-fixing and the heads-up about the water.
Only then did she open the fridge, retrieving from her designated shelf an about-to-expire donut to serve as brunch.
She didn't know why, but looking at his shelf—fresh produce neatly organized alongside healthy ingredients—and then at her own—a chaotic jumble of junk food—Charlotte, who was not easily embarrassed, felt a sudden pang of self-consciousness.
Evidently, this roommate's lifestyle habits were far healthier and more organized than hers.
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Their second exchange nearly sparked a catastrophe, thanks to a cat.
It was the chubby orange cat kept in the young man's room. Charlotte had known of its existence since she moved in—the man had asked the landlady's permission and gotten Charlotte's consent beforehand. Having kept an orange cat back in her hometown, she didn't mind at all; in fact, she was rather envious of his feline companion.
To avoid disturbing her, he always kept the cat locked in his room when he went out.
But today this solemn-faced creature had somehow escaped its securely closed door. It first pranced into the small shared living room, then displayed an agility utterly at odds with its plump figure, leaping onto the high windowsill and eyeing Charlotte's row of succulents with tremendous interest. It waddled back and forth nudging them with its round head, paws reaching out as if preparing to give the chubby little plants a vigorous petting.
From Charlotte's perspective—toothbrush still jammed in her mouth—her beloved succulents were facing disaster on par with Godzilla's fiery breath.
She rushed over without even swallowing her toothpaste foam, one hand grabbing the little monster by the scruff of its neck, the other whisking the succulents to safety on the adjacent balcony and slamming the door shut behind them, decisively cutting off all further paths of destruction.
Back on the floor, the cat persisted in scratching at the door for a while. Finding its efforts futile, it shot Charlotte a look of profound dissatisfaction and stalked off.
Charlotte wasn't entirely sure, but she could have sworn the cat's swagger radiated an unmistakable gangster energy.
Even when she later caught it tiptoeing to drink from the toilet, that aura ofAuthority remained fully intact.
Watching this unfold, Charlotte squeezed toothpaste foam out of the corners of her mouth and muttered, "Uh… has this cat… achieved enlightenment?"
No, she definitely needed to report this incident to its owner in full detail.
And then this girl, failing to contain either her hands or her imagination, turned the cat's jailbreak, its attempted assault on her succulents, and its toilet-drinking escapade into a mini comic strip starring "Cat Overlord," which she stuck on the fridge.
She added a helpful postscript: "Is the water in your room not fresh enough? Remember to change it regularly!"
---
The next day at noon, Charlotte found a reply on the fridge door.
More precisely, it was a brief but sincere apology-and-thank-you note, apologizing for the cat's near-destruction of her plants and thanking her for the heads-up about the toilet water.
"Sorry, I was away on a business trip the last two days and left Boss on the auto-feeder—he probably didn't like it, which is why he went for the toilet. I've given the toilet a thorough clean, please forgive him." The young man had written on the sticky note. "Also, Boss is too clever for his own good—he actually figured out how to open the door from inside. I'll remember to lock it properly from now on."
"Haha, so the cat's name is Boss. Suits his vibe perfectly." Charlotte chuckled, flipping the note over and finding two more lines on the back.
One said he'd brought back some local specialties from his trip and left them in the fridge as a thank-you gift.
The other complimented her, saying the mini comic she drew of Boss was perfectly captured.
In the blank space on the sticky note, the young man had drawn a pot of succulents—just a few quick strokes in black ink, yet startlingly lifelike. Charlotte could tell at a glance that the model was her succulent called "Silent Night."
"Wow, an architect with real drawing skills," she observed from her professional perspective as an illustrator, granting the little sketch full marks. Then she opened the fridge to check out the promised gift.
It was a box of fresh strawberries—plump, tender-red, shaped like pretty little hearts.
And they tasted bright and sweet, making Charlotte so happy her eyes crinkled into crescents. Finished with the strawberries, she got inspired all over again and dashed off a new installment of the Boss Cat Overlord comic for the fridge door.
This episode's theme: the long-imprisoned Cat Overlord finally earns freedom, receives a mystical summons to reform his ways, and sets out on new adventures in a wider world.
On the back of the comic page, Charlotte wrote that she didn't mind letting Boss roam the small living room when she was home—she'd make sure to keep windows and doors closed and watch over him. She could even set up a food dispenser and water bowl in the living room, so when he was away on business trips, she could handle the feeding and watering.
"It was raining a lot lately, so I brought the succulents inside, but the weather's cleared up now, so I'll move them back to the balcony. The living room is all yours, Boss." She added: "With more room to stretch his legs, I'm sure Boss will be thrilled."
---
After that, life carried on as before. They were still both busy, still never managed to meet.
Boss the cat, however, was living better than ever. Since getting permission to patrol the living room, he would regularly emerge from the young man's room, inspecting the premises top to bottom, striding past Charlotte with zero fear, projecting an air of formidable authority.
What a self-possessed fat cat.
Charlotte sometimes couldn't resist trying to sneak a pet, expecting Boss to object—but he was unexpectedly accommodating, accepting her attention with regal tolerance, as if granting her a gracious audience. She'd be delighted every time.
While petting him, she'd also find herself growing curious about his elusive owner.
"What kind of person raises a cat this full of personality?" she wondered.
This question remained unanswered for now, and she wasn't curious enough to go out of her way to schedule a meeting. During her limited free hours, she'd rather devote her attention to the magnificently imperious Boss.
And put her illustration skills to full use. Between jobs she was forced to do by demanding clients, she produced a steady stream of Boss Cat Overlord mini comics, each one dispatched to the fridge.
She'd draw a little round-faced girl at the end of each strip in a speech bubble: "Thanks for letting me use your cat as a model!"
The next day, she'd receive a reply—a stick-figure boy saying: "And thanks for drawing him so entertainingly!"
---
Soon Charlotte had gotten quite addicted to her creative side project.
Even with her heavy workload, ideas for new Boss adventures kept bubbling up, the storylines growing richer and more elaborate by the day.
The cat's owner also put serious effort into appreciating her work, discussing Boss's weight, his domineering personality, and his convoluted backstory with evident enthusiasm.
He explained that Boss had originally been a stray, rescued by a former colleague who brought him to the office. His quirky looks and forceful personality quickly made him the entire department's darling. But when the department was restructured and dissolved, the cat's future became uncertain.
So they'd held a sort of casting ceremony—everyone stood in a circle holding cat treats, waiting to see which human Boss would choose. Without hesitation, he latched onto the young man, refusing to let go no matter who tried to coax him away.
"Given my work schedule and the fact I live with a roommate, I really shouldn't have a cat," the young man wrote on a sticky note. "But Boss is a cat who knows his own mind. Since he decided I was to be his companion, I couldn't lightly betray his trust. I had to at least try my best to take good care of him."
"Of course you haven't let him down," Charlotte wrote back, glancing at Boss prowling imperiously past, shaking out his gorgeous fur. Reminded of her own parents' orange cat back home, she smiled and continued writing: "Boss has excellent judgment. You've taken wonderful care of him."
Naturally, this chapter of Boss's history received the full Charlotte treatment—adorned with her wild imagination, it became a new Origin Story mini comic on the fridge.
This time, alongside the young man's illustrated reactions and commentary, came a serious suggestion: "You should post these comics online. More people should see them."