I’m a crazy cat lady: I own a crazy cat, and I am a lady. Well, female – the lady part is debatable.
My cat is evil. I have no idea why. I raised her from kittenhood, and I don’t remember any traumatic experiences that could have led this. She was always fed, loved, played with, and suffered no abuse, and yet she’s turned into a homicidal maniac. She cuddles up to new people and starts purring. This is because she’s found a guillable victim, not because she’s sweet-natured. People usually discover this just after they’ve told me, “She won’t bite me – look, she’s purring – ARGH!”
We haven’t tried the “play nice” strategy since. It makes her miserable and puts my ankles in peril.
That is a far truer approximation of Misha’s general views on life, the universe and everything than this:
Note the expression. It says, “I would come over there and bite your face off, but I’m far too busy being regal at the moment.”
My cat is foremost among the myriad reasons I won’t have children. If this beast had been a human, I’d be on the local news about now saying, “I have no idea how I raised a serial killer.” And of all the phrases I envision myself someday uttering on the news, that’s not on the top ten most desired.
I’m afraid the next cat I own is going to be dead boring after this one, so I hope she lives forever.