The Trials and Tribulations of Mr. Fancy Pants

Once upon a time I lived in Fairfax. I lived in a tiny house with 3 other girls and their various animals. The only animal of consequence in regard to this particular story is one Mr. Fancy Pants.
Mr. Fancy Pants was a cat of overwhelming personality, and we became fast friends. Despite my severe allergy to cats, I often drunkenly snuggled him and insisted he sleep in the nook my body created when I slept in the fetal position.
Mr. Fancy Pants was an outdoor cat, and as I was often the only one home at odd hours of the night, I usually let him into the house. He was also quite the curious little monster. He would regularly find himself stuck on the roof, lacking the ability to get himself down. On many occasions I would build a rudimentary ladder of chairs and coolers to retrieve his silly ass.
I soon grew tired of this.
I began to scold Mr. Fancy Pants quite loudly when I would exit my domicile to hear him meowing from atop the roof.
On one particular afternoon after class, I comfortably positioned myself in my bed and surround myself with all of my favorite things.
Huge glass of water. Check.
Bong. Check.
Pot. Check.
Cigarettes. Check.
Ashtray. Check.
Cell phone. Check.
Remote. Check.
Lighter. Che----SHIT
I threw my bedspread off in disgust, slipped on my house shoes and made for the door. DAMMIT. So close to total bliss and now THIS. A venture into the cold after being so tightly tucked in bed.
I swung open the front door and stepped onto our front stoop.
“MEOOOOOOOW.”
I turned in every direction, searching for the source.
Again I heard, “MEOOOOOOOW.”
I stepped into the yard, and there he was. Mr. Fancy Pants standing on the edge of the roof staring at me as if I had the answers to all that ails the world.
He let out one more loud “MEOOOOOOOW.”
I had finally had enough.
“FUCK YOU FANCY PANTS!” I yelled as I stomped off to my car to retrieve the aforementioned lighter.
After acquiring said lighter I turned to return to my house when I saw him.
There he was, sitting on his porch bench, glaring at me. My 65-year-old neighbor.
Then it occurred to me, “Fuck you Fancy Pants” it’s not something one usually hears.
Shit.Oh well. Like THAT’S the strangest thing I’ve ever done. Please.