I have two bathroom kitties. If I shut them out they cry. If I come home and have to hurry Kichi sits on the toilet and looks insulted when I push her off onto the floor (she only does this when getting to the toilet now! is an emergency.)
Koneko is also a bathtub kitty. If I take a bath I have two choices 1) shut the door and listen to both of them fuss or 2) let her lay on my chest while I soak. The problem with option 2 is she refuses to lay still! She has to keep getting up and walking on me with her boney little feet(can you say ouch!) and getting in between my face and my book (yes she is a pain but she's not made of glass and I can't read through her silly kitty butt.)
I love them but they make me crazy! and then of course they curl up next to me and purr or get so excited to see me come home and I fall in love again.
And of course I am sure They know that and being sweet is all part of their plan to take over the world (or at least my house.)
Cat slaves of the world unite!
I have to point out here that we installed a kitty door on our master bedroom door before having any overnight guests. One kitty (22 pounds) barely fits through it, but it's an ideal solution otherwise.
DH and I joke all the time about the Feline Anti-Literacy Campaign. They don't want us humans to read. We might approach their intelligence levels and discover that the Earth really is an experiment set up by feline aliens from another planet. Douglas Adams had it almost
right, he just used the wrong species.
I used to have a bathtub kitty, but I used to spend rather a lot of time in the tub. I did much of my writing there while in college. I'd prop a plank across the old-fashioned tub as my table to hold one of those antique Royal manual typewriters, paper, coffee, cigarettes and ashtray. I had to make room for Bathtub Kitty, who would sit on that plank and dangle the last three inches of his tail in the bathwater. Yes, it was weird, and a very long time ago.
Then came the day a roommate startled Bathtub Kitty. Kitty jolted and toppled the plank, sending the 50ish-pound typewriter onto my knee, the rest of the stuff into what was now a very messy tub, and poor frantic kitty into the water with me.
I don't declaw. Need I say more?