I find most cats aren't my style, but that's because I'm into mangy ass kickers. I blame Tiger and LP. Tiger was a taunter that used to smack around this little yapper of a dog that the dude across the street had on a chain when I was in high school. Tiger mysteriously vanished when I was about 16, but his legacy lives on in some of the cats around the hood I suspect to be of his lineage. LP was my old roomate's cat, and he made it clear that in his house, he owns you. The day that chihuahua wandered up on the porch and got his ass beat by LP was his finest hour. Poor little fucker got some kind of a tumor a few years back, but that asshole lived a good 17 years despite his asinine antics. I like a couple cats right now, one of my brothers that likes to box with me and the grey terrorist at mom's that will climb up on my shoulder if I have clothing he can climb up to get there. Attack cats, the both of them, and that's why they amuse me. The grey one even tried to swipe a bag of groceries the other day, the little shit...
UPDATE: Like I hinted at before, you don't own cats... cats own you. I am currently owned by Zoey and MAN was she pissed when I brought Remus in the house.