After my initial shock, horror, and revulsion, I did have to concede that her logic wasn't all bad. My denial was appropriate.
Her thinking was along the lines of my general feline qualities. My officemates found my tattoos on the web before they got to meet me. They've seen my mannerisms. Perhaps most charmingly, they've seen me catnap in our office beanbag. Apparently people don't sleep in positions like that.
So I identify with cats. That news is almost as old as I am.
The strongest defense I can have against any sort of furry label is that I don't need a costume to live the way I want to. Am I fickle? Picky? An unpredictable mix of distant and affectionate? All of the above, every day of my life. I don't think the furries have any settings between wearing their costumes and being bland.