My grandaughter came to visit and brought her new little kitty. The little beast proceeded to freak the dog out, tear the curtains all to pieces, and bring back memories I had long put away. Many years ago, my wife came home with a new kitty. I dubbed him Darth Vadar. He hated me. Whenever the wife was gone, he became the feline from hell. One day, when my wife went shopping, I threw his silly ass out the door. I stood there and laughed at him through the window. Later that day, after my wife returned and let him back in, I went to get in my new, two-day old truck. The little freak had taken a dump right on the hood of my new truck. He knew exactly what he was doing. From that day on, it was WW III between he and I. If ever there was a cat with nine lives, it was him. I know. I tried killing him on many occasions, but to no avail. He would always show back up, laugh at me as he walked in the house and then he would promptly plant his fat butt in my wife's lap. She drooled and cooed over that cat like a baby. All the while, he sat there looking at me defiantly, mocking me. There were times I actually thought about strangling him with my bare hands, but I was worried it might freak the children out. The day he died of natural causes, I threw a party in my head. Only I, was invited to dance the dance of the victorious. While others around me wept, I sat there with a maniacal grin on my face, much like Anthony Perkins at the end of the movie "Psycho". My wife knew what I was thinking and she never forgave me for the way I treated Mr. Snuggles. R.I.P in you little bastard.