I've hated cats all my life. When my mother brought one home, I was furious. I stared at it through it's cage, hoping it could sense that it wasn't wanted here, and hopefully run away. It didn't. Instead it sat on it's butt with it's arms holding him up and stared at me. I held my head in my hands and stared back. He would tilt his head to the side, and i'd remain still. Then he would slide his feet out from under his butt, and take a few steps to the cage door. I would raise an eyebrow, daring him to move more. He'd place his paw up on the front of the cage, and let a little annoying noise escape his little pink mouth. "What do you want," I'd ask him fiercely, and he'd put his head down, peeking up at me. Thinking just cause his head was down I couldn't see his creepy green eyes. "You're not even cute." He saw this as almost a bet, spinning around and placing his feet under his butt again, he'd tilt his down and look up at me, then look down, then look at me again. Here, I'd let him out of the cage, once he approached me, rubbing his head on my leg, I'd go into another room, aware that the stupid little paws leaving little marks on the floor was behind me.