This is what happens to you when you're the girl who equally loves and hates cats:
A pack of feral cats moves in outside your bedroom window. In your backyard. They meow bloody murder at all times of night, worrying your mind with the dark and vicious scenarios that could be devolving right outside of your window: cats raping cats. A bloody cat execution. A mournful grieving ritual over the death of an elder cat.
And then you sit there, your ear cocked to the window, trying to decipher the meows for signs of life or death and contemplating exactly what to do when there's a kitty uprising right outside your window.
Do you dare creep to your window, in an attempt to actually witness the horrors only your ears have previously witnessed? Do you call the police? Animal control? Say a prayer for all the fallen kitties?
Shut the fuck up, you mumble, far out of any kitten's hearing. You roll over, snuggle deeper under your covers, and hope to hell they finish killing that cat soon.