We call our cat Psycho. She's a Himalayan bipolar schizophrenic serial killer. And we love her. She can go from sweet, loving, purring to a Tasmanian Devil in the blink of an eye. She doesn't 'allow' us to groom her, trim her nails, clean her ears or remove knots from her fur - every event is the Civil War all over again. She will snuggle once in a rare while for mere seconds and before you get over your surprise, she's gone. She doesn't like to be picked up or stroked. As she ages, she gets less social. She wakes us up at the crack of dawn for food she isn't interested in once we put it in her dish. She thinks that anyone who goes into the kitchen for anything is there for her benefit and will whine for food with a full dish. A cat food she adored two days ago is now her worst enemy and she will back away from it like it's on fire. She thinks it's all about her. My husband and I both indulge her. She spent her early years with his mother, a woman with little joy in her, a woman who never learned to express love. When his mother died, his father didn't want her so we took her home and have tried to make it up to her. She's never going to be sweet and cuddly but we are grateful for the entertainment. She wrestles with my husband - it's a daily ritual when he gets out of the shower and sometimes she draws blood. His mom had her front claws removed but left the back ones and she's deadly with them. We call him her big chew toy. She and I don't play like that, I try to be gentle with her. I recently purchased a set of pet clippers and we're going to try to clean up some of the mats in her fur. Unfortunately, the big chew toy will have to hold her down and I don't envy him that job. She won't go near him for days afterwards, can she hold a grudge? You bet. She's getting old so we won't have her with us someday. I'll miss her. She's been a bright spot in our lives.