Not a Cat Person.

To begin this story properly, we must journey back through the mists and sands of time. Imagine, if you will, a time much like your own, but far, far more primitive. A happier, more innocent time, when the air was cleaner and the sun shone just a little bit brighter. Yes, I'm talking about August 30th, 2009.

That day, as I began lugging my awesome stuff down the awesome hall of my awesome new apartment building in awesome New York City, I was eager to find my awesome room and check out my awesome digs. Before I could get there, however, I noticed a living, breathing impediment. Standing between me and my door, as if to guard the hall, was a small, black feline, eyeing me suspiciously.

HOLY CRAP! A BABY PANTHER!!!

It turns out that this menacing creature was not in fact a panther, but a smaller species of panther called a house cat. The irony of a house cat living in an apartment was not lost on this fine English major; what a great teacher I'll make someday! With regard to the problem at hand, however, I did what any brave man worth his salt would do: I scurried past, whimpering and refusing to make eye contact before locking my door behind me (once I figured out how to work the lock).

The next few weeks went by without incident. Occasionally, I would exit the elevator and head toward my room when the coast looked clear, but at the last minute the walking embodiment of terrible luck would dart out into the hall and stare at me. I count myself as fortunate to still be here to talk to you today. I don't know why it refrained from eating me on the spot, but somehow, it let me live.

(See comment thread for photo credits)

This pattern would no doubt have recurred ad infinitum were it not for the intervening hand of my roommate's girlfriend, whom we'll call Liz. Liz, winner of the Kindest Person Ever Award seven years running, loves cats. She immediately fell in love with Annie (the baby panther/"cat") and allowed it to follow her into our room while I was away being The Man somewhere. This would normally not alarm me; I have lived with animals before (men's rugby team, junior year of college). However, a precedent had been set. You see, apparently Annie had what my college roommates could only dream of: memory (especially of the night previous). And you bet your Aunt Sally the Cat Lady that she remembered where our room was and how nice my sneakers smelled.

Annie is here all the time now. It's more than a daily thing. She might actually spend more waking hours in our room than I do. Multiple times a day, I will hear the sleigh-bell on her collar bouncing along until she is at our door, followed by rather pitiful meowing. Once I relent (and I usually do, because I'm a puss), Annie will charge headlong into our room without so much as a hello and proceed to jump on something.

Last week, she hopped up on the table and took a nap on the textbook I was reading (admittedly, it was a pretty boring book, and if she didn't fall asleep on it, I probably would have). She also cannot get enough of my bookshelf, or my bed, or Spike the Wannabe Cactus (the aloe vera plant I bought from Trader Joe's). She hogs my laptop and checks out the bathroom way too much. Wednesday night I found out--the hard way--that she hasn't been de-clawed. And at the present moment she is napping on my bed, which I didn't give her permission to do. I imagine soon she will wake up and ask if she can has my cheezburger.

I guess I understand why some people might be cat people, but I'm not one of them. I'm not a mean guy, but I just happen to hold the unpopular opinion that it isn't always playtime, and I have to get some work done (or blog about it), and occasionally I'd like to sleep in my own bed (preferably if it doesn't smell like fur). A small, carnivorous animal meowing at my door ten times a day is, surprisingly, not something I look forward to. Isn't it a bit presumptuous to just drop by all the time? At least bring a coffee cake or something.

Why anyone would own a panther at all is beyond me.