My in-laws have a cat. When my husband and I were dating, I asked him what her name was and he said, "Cat."
I found out, eventually, that the cat's name is actually Mrs. Bigglesworth, though everybody just calls her Cat.
After having lived in my in-laws home for a couple of weeks (perhaps I'll write more on that later), I have also learned that when a cat, this Cat in particular, reaches her arm out to you, slowly, claws bared, it does not actually mean she wants to scratch your face off. Though one time, she sprung at me like a spider monkey from hell when we were watching a movie downstairs. This was also during our dating days, and has made me wary of said Cat ever since.
No, the arm out with claws flexed means she wants you to continue petting her, which I probably would have done had I not feared for my face, and my life, due to shows like Mystery Diagnosis which taught me that if cats scratch you, they give you flesh-eating parasites. So, thanks for that, TV.
I also fell for the whole "cats-smother-babies-in-their-sleep" wives' tale for about a day, until I decided to ask google if that was true. FYI: It is not. So, the girls will be ok in a house with a cat, I suppose.
Also, Bagheera likes to chase cats. We've had to stop him and now he chooses, instead, to stare at her from inches away while she mews loudly. I can't help but think he'd be an awfully awkward human.
Just you wait until I tell you about the dynamics between Bagheera, Bert, and now the final member of the canine trifecta at home: Teke, delightfully grouchy, smallest of the bunch, tiger-striped chi-weiner dog. Oh, and the dog fights wherein Bagheera basically kicks the crap out of Teke (pronounced tiki, like the torches) for doing things like sniffing Bagheera's dog food, barking too much, or defending his stuff at his own house.