In a previous life I was a bona fide die-hard cat-hating dog lover and proud of it. One day I was out-voted and over-ruled by my teenagers and a kitten moved in. I remember standing my ground and being tough. I ruled that the enemy would be confined to their room. I wanted no part of that cat.
It took a while (two days), but I finally warmed up to the little thing. I really don't remember how it happened, but within a year that cat was the only thing worth coming home to at the end of a long day. A single woman's companion. Unconditional love without any of the heartache. When the kids moved out, the cat stayed.
We've grown rather close over the years. He's scratched me. I've stepped on his tail. He's bit me. I've squeezed him and cried into his fur when I've been upset. He swatted my favorite coffee cup off the counter and broke it. I took him to the vet and had him fixed (took him three very long days of glaring to get over that). He's peed on my carpet. I've almost killed him when I didn't rinse all the Palmolive off when I tried to give him a bath (took him three very long days to get better).
He annoys me when he scratches the furniture or trips me when I am trying to fix dinner or jumps on the counter when I'm baking or jumps up on the keyboard when I'm writing.
I couldn't imagine life without him.