Calling all reasonable, kind landlords!

Paris, Somewhere in the 15th arrondissement.
She looks up at me with huge, troubled eyes. She knows there's a problem somehow...and she knows that it involves her.
Samantha is only a cat, a little cat at that. Barely six pounds of sweetnesa and spunk and a cat who is more refined than most people. She is a delicate soul who follows commands issued in English and French and sits primly erect at the table but never, ever puts her paws on it. She is as far removed from the bad boy cats who hang out on street corners as Miss Manners is from Hulk Hogan.
And yet, Parisian landlords can't see the difference. Nor can they see the difference, apparently, between me -- a tenant who would cover all upholstery with slipcovers and keep the place neat as a pin -- and the irresponsible owners who raise rowdy, unmannered cats who, in other days, would have been known as "juvenile delinquents"!
And apparently, a pet deposit is either unknown here or as rare as an oyster po' boy or a big, fat hunk of lemon meringue pie.
So Sam and I are still looking, with increasing desperation, for a nice little apartment. Does anyone know of anyone who wants an ideal tenant? A tenant who already has renters insurance (secured months ago in the US and awaiting only a Paris address and bank guarantees? A tenant who is a homeowners with a home far nicer (and more expensive!)than what she will be renting?
Sigh. We wait, in temporary quarters. And wait.