When I met my future wife, her cat immediately wanted me dead, hopefully in a painful and slow manner. Every time I tried to pet her she'd hiss, claw my forearm, and bite my hand. Mind you, I'm a lifelong cat lover and something of a "cat whisperer," so this was an epic failure of human-feline domestic tranquility.
But I kept trying, and very gradually, over a period of months, she eventually, grudgingly at first, came to accept me. We ultimately became BFFs, and it was so rewarding! We finally reached such a rapport that not only could I snuggle and smooch her, but she'd let me rotate her s-l-o-w-l-y around on the linoleum kitchen floor by pushing on the back of her neck as she lay on her side, purring loudly. When we did this I'd exclaim, "Wheeee!" and she loved it.
This kitty was a full-figured girl, so when she got to where she anticipated this fun little ritual every time I came home, as soon as I entered the kitchen she'd buckle her legs and collapse with a mild thud onto the linoleum, and then it was Wheeee-time again!
She lived to a ripe old age in the double digits, and I got to enjoy many of those years with her. She was a beautiful orange-and-white cat with long hair and green eyes. She must have been Irish, because she sure had a temper when things weren't going her way! But when they were, oh, what a sweetie.
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