I live in Somerville. I grew up in Somerville. In fact, I still live in the house I grew up in. But that doesn’t necessarily make me a native of the city.

Somerville natives come from blue-collar families. Mine was an academic-class family — my parents had moved to Somerville to be closer to Tufts University, where my father earned his doctorate in physics. Somerville natives have grandparents who came from other countries. My grandparents came from West Roxbury. Somerville natives get married and have kids in their 20s. I’m 37 and just had a baby. Plus, I’m not married. As of this writing, it’s still illegal for two women to get hitched.

Please don’t get me wrong: I consider myself a product of the most densely populated city in the state. Still, I’m reminded of my outsider status from time to time. This weekend, my partner and I took our daughter out for a walk. Our route ended in Davis Square near Starbucks (housed in the space that was once a Pizza Hut). When we went in, we noticed a booth that some folks had set up on the sidewalk outside; they were handing out animal-rights literature. When we left, as we walked up the street, a woman coming at us in the other direction shouted: " Stop breeding! Your overpopulation is pushing animals out of existence! "

This would have never happened to a native of the city. Why? Well, when it became clear that Somerville was turning into Cambridge — you know, the sort of place where an animal-rights extremist could shout at a lesbian couple to stop " breeding " — all the natives moved to Medford.

I’m still here.