Hank's my buddy. I'm certain that's been made quite clear over the posts here.
We have a nightly ritual now. I tuck my wife in bed and head onto the computer.
Hank accompanies me.
He comes in here and, if I'm lucky, gets distracted by his food and realizes he's perennially hungry. Like this very moment, actually.
But more likely, he wanders around wondering where his attention is. Tonight, it's more understandable; I spent the evening in the office doing what we do. So I wasn't home. Even when I am home (most nights), I'll be sitting on the recliner. At least half the time, Hank is sitting on one armrest or the other.
Just earlier tonight - while updating the wine blog with a tangential observation - Hank meandered around the computer room, calling attention to himself.
"Meow. Meow. Meow. Meeoww? Meow. Meow. Meow. Meowwwww."
When he gets desperate - which is quite often - he leans on the chair to stand tall and uses his free front paw to tap me on the shoulder. He's done this with Lindsay as well.
I keep asking if it's time for bed and all I get back is a blank stare.
So he's in here raising hell and Grace - usually sound asleep by now - is up and about as well. When I got home, she was sitting in a corner in the bathroom, a place I've never seen her. While taking out my contacts, she decided it would be cool to grab a drink from the recently-used tub.
This despite the fact that her water bowl is nearly overflowing.
I guess I just don't get cats.