Let me start out by saying that I love cats. Cats are great pets, sweet companions, and a wonderful source of endless entertainment. I have always had cats ever since I was a kid (my parents collected stray cats, so I have a soft spot for them). However, Angus, my roommate's cat, is a totally different story.

It all started back in August of 2014. My roommates and I had just started to get settled into our new condo when the talk of a cat came up. My original intention of having my own place was to bring my cat Freckles from my mom's house to come live with me and my roommates. However, that plan was forgotten when one of my roommates brought home a little black kitten. This kitten was the cutest little fur ball I had ever seen and he was wearing a red collar with a little bell on it. Literally, so picture perfect. I was content with this kitten, and we decided to name him Angus (after my original idea of "Finn" was quickly shot down).

As weeks went on, we noticed that our four-legged friend was sort of, well, a jerk. That's kind of a weird word to use to describe a cat, but I really don't know how else to describe this cat. Every time I sat on the couch I would receive a quick scratch or bite from Angus, followed by a full on attack on my arm. "Oh, he's just being a kitten!" my roommate says. "Let him play with you!" she says. "He doesn't know any better, he's so young!" she says. NO. He was pure evil. I could see it in his little golden eyes.

We also discovered that Angus really liked our food. No matter how many times we would bring him back to his food bowl, he was always digging his paws into our spoons, mid-bite. I have never known a cat who likes edamame and ice cream more than this one. We resorted to locking him in the bathroom, but that little kitten had every intention of finding some way out... or at least opening every drawer and cabinet in there, effectively blocking the door, and forcing us to use a knife to open it back up, just so he could run out and dig his face into our Chipotle. For a long time, I had to eat in my bed with the door locked because Angus would climb up my legs to attempt to take my food from me.

(Photo via Tumblr)

My roommates and I had so many arguments over this cat. We were yelling and crying (literally) about how much this cat was terrorizing us and how he needed to find a new home. There was a point where I threatened to move out of the apartment and go back home because I was so upset with this ball of evil that has taken the form of a cat. But, nothing ever happened. We tried everything to discipline him. Spray bottles, calming spray, spankings, yelling. I Googled everything I could think of. "How to discipline your psycho cat" or "why does my cat look like he wants to suck my soul out of my body while I'm sleeping?"

After weeks of convincing, my roommate finally took Angus to get fixed. This was literally the best day of my life. Okay, that's probably an exaggeration, but seriously, I hated this cat so much that I was so pumped for him to finally be mellow and chill, and this was how it was going to happen. Or so I thought. Honestly, he was even crazier and more wild after he was fixed (although his human food obsession subsided slightly).

I did notice one thing about this cat, however. He would sit in my room on the windowsill and stare outside for hours. I mean seriously, I would leave my apartment to go to the grocery store for a few hours, and when I would come back, he would still be there. I really can't imagine what it must be like to be an indoor cat with the outside world right in front of you, but you can't go out there because you'll probably never came back (although sometimes I really considered letting him out in hopes that he really wouldn't come back). These moments were, and still are, really sweet because he would let me pet and cuddle with him and I wouldn't end up bleeding in the process. My windowsill is a regular spot for Angus nowadays.

Another thing I noticed is that he really did greet us at the door. I would instantly forget the fact that I was really upset at him for pooping next to, not in, his litter box, because he would rub up on my legs and meow loudly when I would get home. "Finally," I thought, "he's actually doing normal cat things!"

I have to admit, Angus has grown on me a bit. No, I won't miss him when my roommate and I part ways, but he is kind of cute sometimes. And he licks me now rather than biting the heck out of me. I think I really decided that I sort of kind of liked him when he got a really bad case of fleas recently. We had to fumigate our apartment, and this poor animal was so sick because of the fleas. He was throwing up and had really terrible stomach problems (this might actually be due to the fact that he ate my roommate's Alfredo sauce, but who knows). Angus wouldn't eat, sleep, drink, or even clean himself. I had serious sympathy for this animal... Wait what?! I was getting emotional over this cat who constantly attacks my legs when I walk down the stairs? I was actually feeling sorry for this animal who knocked over every glass of water I ever put on the coffee table? Seeing Angus in a state of sheer helplessness reminded me that even though we didn't really get along that great (total understatement), he was like a fourth roommate to me. For that, I had to help my roommate take care of him in his time of need.

I guess you could almost say this is a success story. He and I are finally on constant cuddling terms, and he only scratches me when I touch his belly fat. I think that's a pretty fair trade.