I know that the top of the bookshelf next to my side of the bed is your new all-time favorite perch from which to do your "Bat-Cat" impression. However, when you get up there in gargoyle mode as I'm getting ready for bed, you know that I'm getting ready to turn off the light, which means you're going to be getting back down off the 6' tall shelf all by your lonesome in the dark. Please reconsider this nightly course of action, as I'm getting tired (HA!) of you inevitably knocking books off the shelf -- what did Little House on the Prairie ever do to you?! -- and landing on one or more portions of my anatomy. The night you landed on my head was particularly unappreciated, and if I had been more awake, Prometheus would probably be an only cat right about now.
Your humble female human servant, who is contemplating leading a rebellion, complete with torches and pitchforks (because I've always wanted to run a mob with torches and pitchforks)