Not me, mind you. The Favorite Husband. AKA Mister "I Don't Really LIKE Cats".
Of course, when the Favorite Husband "doesn't really like" an animal, it doesn't mean he doesn't like them. Trust me, he likes just about EVERY ANIMAL THERE IS. All it means is, if he had a choice between having THAT animal as a pet versus, say, a puppy, he would choose the puppy. He's just not an Incredible Cat Person. Neither am I, to be honest--although his parents thought differently so one year at Christmas all of my presents were kitschy kute kitten krap: posters and calendars and t-shirts depicting kittens playing with balls of yarn. I've always liked cats and I've pretty much always had them for pets, but I am not Crazy Cat Person. I like them a tad better than the Favorite Husband does, but, like him, I tend to like anything that does not actively try to draw blood from me, and that tendency sometimes gets confused with the whole "Cats are the most AWESOME ANIMALS ON THE PLANET" crowd.
We were both somewhat disappointed when, after a promising start, our little rescue kitten Sadie proved to be less than friendly. Don't get me wrong; she's here for life. It's just that her life is not the utopian purrfest you imagine it's going to be for adorable wee kitling crouched on your lap. Sadie grew up to be rather skittish and shy and distant, and it's more like living with a wild animal than a pet. Oh, well.
Enter Fred, the Maine Coon. Everything you've heard about Maine Coons, it turns out, is true. All the good stuff, anyway. He's not really a lap cat, but he enjoys hanging out in the same room with you, in a way that seems nonchalant but is pretty deliberate. If I am, say, doing laundry and running clothes from the bedroom to the washer, Fred follows along. If I go downstairs to clean the catbox there's Fred overseeing the job. And lately, if I make myself a sandwich on the kitchen table, there's Fred sitting in a nearby chair, watching the ENTIRE PROCESS from maybe six inches away.