Our relations with animals are so weird.
I've been thinking about this a lot the last few weeks, as we've added a new member to the household -- a bad old cat named Aesop (his original name related to unfortunate markings above his upper lip, begins with A, and rhymes with "golf").
Bad in the sense that he sometimes flexes his nails on a cushion and I scream and gesticulate madly, clapping my hands, snapping my fingers, stomping my feet. I look pretty wild myself, and quite reasonably, Aesop looks at me like I'm completely mad.
He may be bad, but Aesop may have a point.