Annie, our cat, has always been an odd creature – that is, she’s a dog in a cat’s body. Armed with thumbs and catcher’s mits for paws, she goes everywhere your typical cat avoids like the plague.

She’ll curl up in the bathroom sink as I’m getting ready in the mornings, rolling back her head so look at me upside down or rubbing up against my elbow as I try to carefully line my eyes with makeup. She thinks the lower shelves in the refrigerator are perfect places to try to relax. The other day I caught her trying to flush the toilet.

She may be the first generation of kitten-kind preparing to take over the world.

This afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, typing away on the computer when Annie padded into my bedroom, stared up at me and then jumped up to sit on my lap. I was listening to my iPod, and the white cord between earbuds and device was beckoning to her – which was why I’d carefully placed it out of cat arm’s reach.

I watched in disbelief as Annie found a way of trying to grip the lip of the desktop with one paw, wrangle her body so that it was half on my chair, half hanging from it and reach repeatedly for the cord. It was a move straight out of your typical Bruce Willis/Sly Stalone flick, minus the skyscraper framework or rugged rock cliff.

Were it not, you know, electronics wiring, I might have given it to her to applaud her effort and feline ingenuity.

Shortly before she gave up on this endeavor and padded back off to find one of her toys in the other room, Annie stopped to stare up at me, paw still seemingly holding onto the desk.

I could read it in her eyes.

Check this, human. What have you got?