When I was a kid my grandmother had this big Siamese cat, a big old tom cat. His name was Dumb. I don't know why they called him Dumb, he was pretty smart. He would use the toilet, not a litter box. Anyways, this cat apparently hated me for no reason. One day I was sitting in front of the television watching some TV, and the cat was lounging lazily on top the TV. Suddenly, without provication, the cat launched it's self onto the very top of my head with all 500 or so claws fully extended and prceeded to claw the living shit out of my head. This went on for about a second until I managed swat the little bastard off my head, at which point I was bleeding from numerous cuts and scratches. I ran and told my mom what happened, but EVERYONE figured I MUST have done something to provoke the cats attack. I think I was watching Capt. Kangaroo at the time, maybe he didn't like Mr. Greenjeans or something, but something set that cat off, and it wasn't me. From that day forward that cat tried to stay an arms length from me because every chance I got, I swatted that fucking animal with everything I had. I basically made it my lifes mission to make that fucking animal misserable every second that I was around. God I hated that cat. So far I have outlived that cat by more than 30 years. Does that mean I won? Anyone else ever have serious vendetta against a quadruped?