We Almost Paid for Cat-Sitting!?
How Strict Building Rules Undermine Real Community
We'd lived for six months in a Bucktown building where neighborly contact rarely went beyond a polite nod—perhaps because the lease explicitly discouraged it:
“Lessee shall not solicit, canvass, nor conduct any door-to-door activities on the premises.”
Intended to keep salespeople away, it also stifled normal neighborly contact, like leaving a note under someone’s door or inviting them to an event.
Even our mailboxes are locked shut, airtight to slotted in flyers.
Instead of an open-door feeling, the building’s own rules quietly push people to keep to themselves.
WTF: We Almost Paid for Cat-Sitting
That “no solicitation” rule really hit home when my partner and I planned a two-week trip to Australia. Our cat needs more than a simple auto-feeder, especially since all-dry diets can lead to urinary issues. Usually, you’d just post a flyer or knock on a couple doors to find a neighbor who’d help.
Here, though, we worried it would violate the lease. We nearly hired a professional cat-sitter off of Thumbtack.
Then we said Okay fuck it, and taped a short note in the mailroom (about the only semi-public bulletin space we had).
Within a day, four neighbors offered to cat-sit. Four!
That quick response seemed to suggest that, in spite of management’s restrictions, people still wanted to be neighborly.
Cameras Everywhere
The no-solicitation clause wasn’t the only thing making the place feel impersonal. The building also boasted about a high-tech surveillance system:
“The building is equipped with the very latest HD surveillance system. 41 cameras…recording activity…”
Sure, it deters package theft, but it also makes normal hallway interactions feel staged. You catch yourself wondering if you’re on camera every time you pause to chat with someone.
That constant feeling of being watched—does it undercut the small moments that help people connect?
I find it hard to relax into a hallway chat when every movement feels archived.
Who Benefits from the Silence?
Put together—a ban on friendly flyers and constant surveillance—the building ends up quiet, orderly, and pretty impersonal. So who gains?
Management: They sidestep collective complaints because tenants rarely organize or get close enough to notice common issues.
Tenants: Some might appreciate fewer door knocks and a sense of “security,” but they miss out on the warmth you get from an actual community—shared favors, casual chats, and the sense that people around you actually know who you are.
On the surface, it all runs smoothly, but it’s missing the deeper ties that make a place feel like home instead of an extended-stay hotel.
Resisting Isolation One Post-It at a Time
Despite those constraints, our quick mailroom note got four neighbors to offer help out. While we were gone, the neighbor two doors down sent us little updates about our cat that made us feel more connected than ever.
Just a week ago we were lucky enough to catsit for a neighbor across the hall. In many buildings, doing little favors is unremarkable—here, it felt like a minor victory against the rules keeping us apart.
We’ve considered starting a building-wide chat group, though we’re cautious about how management might view it under “no solicitation.”
For now, we plan to mention the idea when we bump into neighbors in the lobby, and perhaps try to keep a few QR codes printed out and handy.
I plan to follow the fantastic advice in this post by
for , which is focused on the block or neighborhood level but I think can apply just as well to this de-hotelification project.When you combine constant surveillance with a ban on everyday neighborly contact, you end up with an environment that quietly discourages people from ever reaching out. It looks neat and conflict-free, but mostly because everyone keeps their distance.
I reckon people still do want to connect; they just need a chance. It only takes a spare key and a simple favor to remind us we’re neighbors first, tenants second.
