Cat Tale

I've had an aversion to the feline species since I can remember. Not sure I can articulate the exact reason why. Something to do with the aristocratic air they all seemed to possess. Like a yuppy with four legs who lounges in the sun all day. I'd announce loud and proud, in groups of people, "I'd rather have a boa constrictor as a pet than a cat," hoping to convey my utter disdain for the creature.
One day four years ago, this little, scrappy, dirty, kitten showed up on my porch.  "Go away. Shoo," I spewed at it. If the kids saw it, I'd be putting out that fire for  a week. He left...and came back, again and again. By then the kids had discovered him, fed him,  and BEGGED to keep him. They named him, the obvious, Oreo. Had I been a part of that ceremony I'd have gone with something like groucho (note the moustache), but I don't like cats....right?
Turns out Oreo's pretty alright. He comes when the kids call him. He likes to play ball. He lives outside, and eats bugs. He keeps the pigeons off the roof, ocassionally bringing one to the back door as an "offering". Yeah. I could do without that gesture.
 It took me four years to allow myself to call him mine. Today, as I washed up some dishes, he sat at the back door, staring at me. Occasionally giving me a long, knowing blink. Yep. I think, maybe, I'm smitten.