I'm Pretty Sure the Cat Wants Me Dead

Last year, I thought I'd do a good thing and adopt a kitten. My parents were living in the country and three kittens were orphaned outside of their home. My mother took them into her bathroom and took care of them for several weeks, and when they were old enough, we took one back with us to New York.

Despite having mostly lived indoors, the cat still acts feral. We named her Gypsy because of her spunk (I was reading a book about Gypsy Rose Lee at the time), but she more embodies the spirit of the Romani people (as described in racist European folklore). The hubs has a Bulgarian co-worker named Boris who is always telling little gypsy stories, such as, "At McDonald in Bulgaria, you must pay for the ketchup and mustard packets as well, otherwise Gypsy would make a fortune." Boris also has a story about Gypsies cutting down a live power line to try to steal copper wiring. My cat is more like these characters, always up to zany hijinks.

Gypsy with a plastic bag stuck around her middle

Once, when she was smaller, she escaped through the flimsy divider of my a/c unit, jumping or falling about 15 feet. I couldn't find her for four hours, but luckily a neighbor spotted her and took her in. Gypsy had a slight sprain in her back leg, but that was all. I was probably worse off than she was. She still managed to give the vet technicians hell and had to be restrained in a towel for her examination.

She is not too popular at the vet for this reason. Her first visit to the vet, they went to trim her claws, and she let out the most unearthly wail. The vet's young son was in the room, and he was stuffing his fingers in his ears. The vet was calmly talking over the yowling and I was just laughing hysterically. The last time she visited the vet, to get spayed, she earned a caution label on her chart. They decided to do her surgery earlier than planned because it would be tricky to get her down. That evening, we got a call stating that Gypsy was fine but they'd had to use a little extra tranquilizer and she couldn't really walk yet.

I have unbridled affection for this small animal, despite the fact that she sometimes preys on me. If I leave the bathroom door open, she'll sometimes pounce on my feet and bite them at their boniest part while I'm vulnerable on the toilet. If she happens to be sitting on the shelf above my desk and I walk by her, she'll swipe at me with her claws out. Sometimes she'll tear across the apartment, rear on her back legs, and launch herself at my leg. Even in her affectionate moments she feels compelled to nip and softly scratch me. When I brush her, I wear gloves so I'll still have some skin left on my hands afterward.

Gypsy waiting for some feet to bite

I've suspected the cat may hate me or that she's trying to escape from me, but now I'm wondering if she intends to kill me. Weeks ago, she had knocked a small plastic halogen lamp from its mounting and I just sort of left it where it fell and forgot about it. Yesterday, the hubs smelled burning wood and found that the lamp was on and slowly scorching a spot on the hardwood floor. There's no doubt in my mind that the cat was trying to burn down our apartment. It's only a matter of time before an anvil drops down on my head when I open the front door.