The Cat Hates Me.

We adopted a retired breeding Maine Coon cat a few years ago. Her registered name paid homage to Madonna (the singer, not the saint) and that should have been a warning. Reckless, we threw caution to the wind, and brought home the bride of Satan devil cat from hell.

She hated me on sight.

Renamed Bella (because it suits her outer packaging, she is a beautiful looking cat, but sadly the lovely vessel contains the feline equivalent of toxic waste ) she quickly decided that Christine was to be her human, and I was nothing but a road block between her and her indentured servant. Not even a road block so much as a lump or an irritation to be excised. I tried to win her over, I bought her trinkets, treats, toys. I kept her litter box fresh and as sweet smelling as a cat toilet can smell. I made sure her dog-free zone was a fortress that no canine could breach. Like the scrawny, geeky kid who turns herself inside out to make the bully pick on someone else, I tried to make Bella see that I was not the enemy, but a friend she just hadn't yet discovered.

Still she hated me.

I brushed her gorgeous, long fur (to which I am so allergic ) because she is a very large cat, and can't groom herself in some hard-to-reach places. Did I mind the asthma attacks and blue tinge my face took on? No, of course not.

I rubbed her ears, and, hearing a low rumble, thought she was purring. Turned out she was growling and about to turn teeth and nails on my offending fingers.

I brought her cat trees, cat beds, cat shelves, real ostrich feathers, all the comforts and amusements money could buy. She snubbed the objects of my affection, and started watching me, following my movements with her eyes. She would appear, suddenly, out of nowhere, spectre-like, just to let me know that she was keeping me in her line of fire.

Still hates me.

So last night I am trying to have a quiet, relaxed conversation with Bella's maidservant, on what I thought was one of her breaks. Bella is a demanding boss, think Donald Trump without the charm and with better hair, and when Chris is summoned, she is expected to attend. Now. Her breaks are infrequent, we try to make the most of them.

Every time I opened my mouth to speak, Bella meowed. Loud. For a long time, and the look! One could have sustained hypothermia from that withering glare.

I fear that eventually she will figure out how to get rid of me, and she's clever enough to make it look like an "accident". One day I'll just have disappeared, and nobody will suspect Bella, nobody will ever know.

And she'll finally have Christine all to herself.......