Because... kitten. And he's growing up so quickly (like the rest of the family) that soon he won't be a kitten anymore but a lanky cat-ager. (Cat-teen? Kit-at? I'm not sure what the teenager word for a cat is.)
He's already worked out the rules of the house. He runs from the kids, puts up with being thouroughly licked by the Wolfen-Pup (often with a firm paw keeping him still) and in quiet times comes and sits on Beloveds' or my chest and purrs and purrs and purrs.
He has a truce with my in-laws dog, Sheba, (as seen above) and they happily study each other and sit beside each other.
But... that look in the top photo? I have a terribly feeling it is betrayal. You brought me where? Here, with the savages? I hope you feel guilty... He is loved well, but perhaps not wisely.