Psychotic or Empathetic?

I think I've written previously about Kevin's transformation. The cat that originally wanted nothing to do with me and would climb up into the box springs under my bed to get away from me, now won't get out of my lap. And, in fact, it usually takes about thirty seconds from the time I sit down for Kevin to find me and climb into my lap.

I'll come home, climb the stairs, look into the bedroom and see Kevin sleeping on the corner of the bed, put my crap on the table and sit down to take my shoes off, and here she comes, running to climb into my lap. If I put her down in an effort to get to my shoelaces, she'll throw a U-turn and climb back up. My PA, who apparently also has cats, asked if Kevin was like a magnet. Yup, that's exactly it. You peel her off your lap and toss her (gently) to the floor, and she immediately climbs back up.

It's kind of cool when you're just sitting around, but slightly annoying when you're trying to remove, or put on, your shoes.

And frankly, it seemed a little psychotic. Clingy, in an obsessive-compulsive sort of way.

But then I had a thought: maybe she's not psychotic, but rather empathetic. You read stories about animals that can sense that an earthquake is coming, or sense the presence of cancer or the presence of impending death (well, that's how the humans observing them are interpreting it, anyway). Maybe Kevin's one of those animals. Maybe she can tell I'm dying, so she's climbing into my lap not for her own benefit, but for mine.

That would be so sweet and sentimental, and such a cool interpretation of her actions. 

That is definitely what I want to believe is happening.

But then, of course, she inserts her claws into my leg deep enough to draw blood and I think, nope, Kevin's psychotic.