Most of my cat experience over the last decade has been with middle-aged, laid-back female cats.
Huck, on the other hand, is a swaggering, confident pirate of a red tabby tom, barely out of kittenhood and chock full of piss and vinegar.
Normally, I assume that a shouted "Hey!" or "No!", accompanied by a waving of the arm or stomping of the foot, will result in a panicked cat stopping whatever it was doing and scurrying for cover. With Huck, however, it apparently means "Game on!", as he stops what he's doing and comes at me for the fight.
It's hard to remain stern and reproving with a critter who's gallantly willing to challenge something fifteen times his own size...