The face of a boomerang

I know this isn't exactly the sort of pussy pictures some of you were hoping to see, but the fact of the matter is, this pussy has been in my face all day.

Lately, Thirteen has developed an obsession with me. That's not a complaint; I'm obsessed with my cats, and it touches my heart when they return the favor. Friday is a neurotic little mama's boy who gets so overzealous when he's having a purring bout on my lap that he usually farts all over me. Eeyore thinks (not without some justification) that he is my little boyfriend, and he frequently herds me around the house with that "Woman, come along now" look on his face, he sleeps on top of my head while cramming his nose against my head and/or face with all his might, and he knocks the phone quite forcefully out of my hand if I dare to have a conversation while lying down. But Thirteen? He's always been pretty casual about it all. Sure, he wants his lovin's, but he's always been content to amuse himself much of the time, and never seemed to be too needy in the affection department.

I'm not even sure it's an affection thing with him right now. He just constantly appears, usually in flight, launching himself at me while I'm trying to work or chat. Well, except for when he launched himself at Squirl's bare legs on Sunday...that was a dangerous outfit, sis. But mostly it's been me he wants. I'm used to his jumping up into my lap when I sit down on the toilet, but lately he's been leaping toward my back, but only with a half-assed effort, so that he only gets halfway and digs his claws in. Now, he's not a big cat, but fuck, it still hurts like a sonofabitch! He's constantly getting up on me in bed or on the couch, but he won't just sit still and let me cuddle him like he used to. Now he's restless and purrs but nips at me, then attacks my feet (which is not unexpected, but still...).

Today while I was trying to work he was just flying up into my lap over and over and over, tromping all over my keyboard and never letting me put him in any position that actually let me continue to do anything but pet and/or restrain him. When he does finally decide to get down for a while, he goes on a rampage through the house and knocks shit over. Do I have a teenager on my hands? You think I should've named him differently?

As I've said about him so many times in the year I've had him: Thirteen, you're lucky you're cute.