You walk up to him and purr ever-so-slightly, just to show that you care. He stops to look down at you, and you lovingly curl up on his foot, wagging your tail and playfully batting his shin with your paw.

"Whoa, look at this! I think the cat's freaking out!" he says.

You look up in amusement. Ah, how he loves you!

One of your other housemates comes over to take a look at you. You truly are adored. You're not a cat. When he said cat, he must have meant "cool cat," as in "hip dude" or "radical sugardaddy." You're up with the lingo, for sure!

"What the hell is he doing?" the second one asks.

"I don't know. It's kind of freaking me out."

"Maybe he has rabies."

What? Rabies? No no no no no. These fellas have it all wrong, you think. You're just showin' some love. A little cuddle-wuddle. A nestle-westle. A snuggle-wuggle. You know. Lovin'.

"Yeah, I think he does. I can't explain this any other way."

"Too bad. I was starting to like the little guy."

"Me too. But we can't have a rabies cat strolling around. Way too dangerous. I guess we could just feed him to that blood-thirsty lion we have in our bed."

"Oh, good point! He's been snarling and ripping apart the bedroom all day. Maybe some lively flesh will calm him down before we go to sleep."

What? What is this? What the hell is going on? How did showin' some love ever get anyone in trouble? Maybe showin' love to the wrong person is dangerous -- like, say, the woman that is not your wife or the man with an axe. But these guys? These are your homies. Your dude. Your mano-e-mano. You just can't understand life...

...which isn't much of a problem anymore anyway.

The end.