If Animals Could Talk

This is something that has always bothered me. Why it is that cats don't like me? That and babies but that is a story for another time.
See I have always had this silent war going on with cats, it's like in my past life I promised to have cats babies with a  certain male cat but then like a typical female I changed my mind when he was in heat and went with his brother or something and now the whole cat nation is trying to kill me because my before self went against the code.
Anyway, it all started with a cat called Pussin. Now Pussin was my grandmothers cat and the first cat I had ever made contact with, mainly because my father didn't like stray or any other animal around the house so it was like going to the zoo for my brothers and I any time we saw a new street animal.
Pussin and I met the night my mother left my father, while I was camping out the drawing room he came sauntering in like he owned the place, scratched my leg because I was blocking his was to under the couch and then sauntered off. It only went downhill after that. He would literally jump on my lamp like a ninja, steal the meat off my plate, run 2 meters away from me, sit on his behind and proceed to swallow it whole so that I saw. Then he would jump on the bed at night while I slept and stick his tail in my nose causing me to sneeze all night or pass his tail all over my face making me slap my forehead thinking it was a mosquito.
This may sound cartoonish to the average person but I lie to you not, this cat was as evil as its owner.
When he died if I was able to make a bonfire I would have danced around it all night eating chicken and ripping his favorite cushion to shreds.
Then there was a Misty, a female black and white cat that caught my fathers heart. Don't know how she did it, but she got admission into the man's home. When I had spent the summer vacation with him that year she was there, lying in the back room as she pleased just poppin out kittens and drinking up my milk. And to add insult to injury she would let my brothers play all soughts of acrobatic games with the kittens but when I just wanted to pet them she basically ran me down until I made it to the other side of the house.
Last but not least FAT SHIT. Fat Shit has been the bane of my existence since 2010. He reminds me of an Italian Mob boss with a long scar across his right eye given to him during a gang fight.
At night when I had projects he would sneakily climb onto my windowsil and just plaster his face onto the glass until I get that tingly feeling that someone is watching me, turn and scream my ass off.
At night he walks back and forth on my roof making creaking noises until I start to beg for him to stop or climb onto the roof and start a fight with him and his crew. Me with a broom against 6 big ass cats with claws, its a sight I tell you.
But that is not what this article is about, I have told you about their actions but sometimes I catch myself talking to them, having literal conversations. They don't talk back it's just their expressions talk for them, it's down right scary.
Every time I get super angry with the noise and I go on the roof to confront them, 4 of them have this look on their faces like they are laughing at me, 1 just sits there with this overly bored look on his face and FAT SHIT puts a paw out and cocks his head to side as if asking me 'what cha gone do pussy?'
People treat these animals like they are just decoration but I see them plotting, don't be surprised if you open the papers to the obits and see Merlene Dunbar 1993 - 2014 Death by Cat Assassination.
But it would be awesome if they could talk, at least I would know which one of them poops in front of my door every Friday night and covers it with fallen leaves.