8:30 p.m. is my usual bedtime.
Once the lights are out my two cats conspire.
First they lay low for a while, until they hear my snores.
Then they engage in all manner of pre-planned chases around my home. The chases are designed to knock over brooms, push folders off my desk, try to get into the trash pail, search for any garbage which I've not placed outside, kick up a storm in their litter boxes, knock over anything that can possibly be knocked over,
What nocturnal fun,
Then, at 4:30 a.m., they scratch on my bedroom door and yowl like banshees, (or Gregorian Chant?).
Their message is clear. "Dad, for goodness sake get up. You left the house in a terrible mess last night. Now clear it up. And then give us breakfast. We are starving".