This is Puck. Puck is a little bastard. After a good twenty minutes of attempting from every conceivable angle to get at the raw chicken I was preparing, Puck went for broke, launched himself onto my back and has left claw marks all over my shoulder blades. Now he's come over all "Don't you love me?" because he knows I'm peeved.
Puck is, of course, unconditionally forgiven. Sigh.