I (29M) share a rented two-story house with my roommate (27M). We’ve been friends for a couple of years, split rent and utilities evenly, and everything was fine — until recently. When we first moved in, I made it crystal clear that I’m allergic to cats. Not the kind of allergy where I just sneeze a bit — I’m talking puffy eyes, runny nose, wheezing, the full package. He knew it, and we even checked the lease together: no pets allowed. Easy, right?
Apparently not.
For the first few months everything was fine. We got along well, had a good rhythm going. But around month five I started noticing weird things. My allergies were acting up again — nothing too crazy, just the usual mild stuff. I thought maybe it was the season, or maybe some dust. But then I started finding cat hair on random things.
At first I thought I was imagining it. I don’t even go near cats, so where would it come from? Then one morning I put on my favorite navy pullover and noticed a few short white hairs stuck to the sleeve. I brushed them off and told myself maybe they were from a visitor or something. But the next week, same thing. More hair. More sneezing.
That’s when I started suspecting something.
Our house has two floors — I live downstairs, next to the living room, he has the bigger room upstairs. I noticed he kept his door closed more often lately. And sometimes, when I came home early, I could swear I heard small noises — like scratching or little footsteps — coming from his room. I even joked once, “Dude, do you have a rat there?” He just laughed and said, “No, just the floor creaking.”
Fast forward about three weeks. I came home from work earlier than usual — around 4:30 instead of 6. I open the door and there it is: a fluffy gray cat just sitting on the living room rug, grooming itself like it owned the place. My roommate was chilling on the couch watching TV like nothing was wrong.
I froze. Then I sneezed. Then I realized I wasn’t imagining things.
I asked him what the hell the cat was doing there. He looked super casual and said, “Oh, that’s Luna. She’s just staying here temporarily, I found her outside and she looked hungry.”
Apparently, “temporarily” meant for the last two months.
I was furious but also trying not to sound unreasonable. I said, “You know I’m allergic. You knew this. And it’s literally in the lease — no pets!” He rolled his eyes and said, “Relax, man. She mostly stays in my room. I vacuum all the time. You’re overreacting.”
Except I wasn’t. The cat clearly didn’t stay in his room. My pullover had fur. My symptoms had been worse. And while we were talking, Luna casually strolled upstairs — like she knew the house better than I did.
I told him this couldn’t continue, that he had to find somewhere else for the cat immediately. He got defensive and said I was “heartless” for wanting him to “abandon a helpless animal.” He insisted he was looking for someone to adopt her, but “nobody had time yet.”
Over the next few days, nothing changed. If anything, the cat got more comfortable. I’d find cat toys in the hallway and food bowls in the kitchen. I tried keeping my window open and taking antihistamines, but my breathing started to get worse. I even had to use my inhaler a few times at night.
When I confronted him again, he basically told me I was being dramatic and that “Luna isn’t going anywhere.” That’s when I realized I had no other choice — so I contacted the landlord.
The landlord was actually furious because pets were explicitly banned in the contract (apparently a previous tenant had caused damage with animals). He came over the next day, saw the cat, and told my roommate he had a week to remove it or both of us would be evicted.
Long story short, the cat is now gone — a friend of his took it in. But ever since then, my roommate barely talks to me. He told our mutual friends that I “forced him to give up his rescue cat” and that I “couldn’t handle living with an animal like a normal person.” Now half our circle treats me like I’m some kind of monster who hates pets.
I honestly don’t think I did anything wrong. I love animals, I just can’t live with them. I even offered to help pay for the cat’s food for a few days while he found it another home, but he refused. I feel bad for the cat, but I also feel angry that he put me in this position.
I keep replaying the moment I found Luna in the living room — her sitting there like she’d always belonged — and I wonder how many weeks he planned to keep lying.
So yeah, I guess my question is: AITA for reporting him to the landlord instead of trying to “work it out” again? Because at this point, I can finally breathe again, but I’ve lost a friend.