I have two cats. I love my cats. I love most cats, if not all cats, but some cats are just mean as all get go, so I really can't say that I do, in fact, love all cats. Zoe, our black, tiny, used to be a sort of feral cat before we took in, and she is the sweetest, most passive, most simple cat I've had living with me (I almost wrote "owned," which is probably a common thing to state with animals, but really, who does the "owning" in a pet relationship?). Sophia, on the other hand, she's the miss-mosh of colors, fuzzy, big and bird-boned ornery cat.
We got Sophia when our other cat, Oreo, had to be put down after a very sad and tragic stroke (I still can't shake the overall emotional feeling I had when I found her paralyzed in our bathroom -- ugh, there it goes again, shuddering through my soul). I was completely distraught over Oreo's death, and we decided getting another cat almost immediately would help me get over it. While I tend to be rather, how do I say it, selfish at times, I really do like taking care of others. That was the void I wanted to fill, not so much the learning all about a new cat and making friends with a new cat void.
We headed on over to the ASPCA and looked around, and for some reason I was pulled to Sophia. She was young (1 at the time), fluffy and pretty. Her write-up said she LOVES to be brushed, she was a lap cat, and she was friendly. The first clue to the fact that the author of her write-up was a practicing fiction writer was that Sophia was in a room all by herself. Most of the cats had a cat friend to hang out with in the cat rooms (ASPCA is very cool that they have cat rooms and not cages), but not Sophia. She was pretty friendly with us, I was smitten, and we took her home.
Slowly her kookball of a personality unfolded, and I soon lost interest in her as a cat I could baby. She was independent, not a lap cat (well, sort of she is), and DETESTS being brushed not to mention getting her dragon lady nails cut. As with most cats, she's a tad off in the head, but her offness is usually displayed as pure violent evilness.
Blood has been shed, poor Zoe is often attacked, and she needs to be kept away from Mateo most times.
Don't get me wrong, she's a great cat - if you're me. She seems to find me as attractive as a smattering of cat nip on a rug. So you can imagine her annoyance when Mateo showed up and never left. She is so enamored by me that when I give Mateo a bath, she has to try with all her might to get on my lap so I will pay attention to her and only her. She has to be in the bathroom with me while I'm using it. She has to sleep with me and follow me around incessantly.
I am her person.
With all this toughness, you'd think she came from the streets like Zoe did. She got out once at our old apartment (wearing a Christmas ruffle around her neck, mind you, which somehow slipped down to her waist and looked very much like a tu-tu), but when I realized she was missing and began calling her name, she popped out of some bushes with a look of wild confusion on her cat face, like, "What the hell is wrong with this new room?! It's cold!"
Zoe has snuck out twice, and both times, Sophia hisses and hisses at her for days until all the nasty outside smell has finally drifted off of Zoe.
Basically, Sophia is a princess who acts like a ruffian. She is tough, but really, not that tough.
Last night when my husband came home, Sophia, for whatever reason, decided to dart out into the hallway of our condo building. When she was steps outside the door, she hunkered down and started hissing at nothing.
My husband yelled for me to come help him since his hands were full and our front door is a heavy fire door that won't remain open. I went out there and Sophia turned toward me and hissed. That was when Mateo came running towards the door saying, "Mommy? Mommy?," and since the door is a heavy fire door, and it shuts on its own, my husband freaked out about Mateo's little fingers getting stuck in the door (which has happened to me and it doesn't feel so hot).
While I bent down to pick up the hissing fuzzball cat, my husband freaked out about her attacking me (it's been known to happen), and I was freaked out about Mateo, and so I figured if I got scratched up, oh well; I just wanted Sophia in the condo and Mateo's fingers to remain chubby and cute.
I got Sophia inside, threw her in our room and closed the door to protect everyone (more to protect Zoe, who was bound to get attacked for no reason) from her since she looked like she just went off the deep end.
We still don't know why she ran out. She knows she doesn't want to be outside. We know it, she knows it, so I think she lost her marbles when the door opened. If we didn't get her back inside, she's probably be in the same spot, hissing away until her spit dried up.