It's the time of day that my cats let me know they're starving to death, especially the big one.
I think maybe it's a matter of old-cat psychology with him. He's 13, getting nearer to dying all the time, and he wants to make sure he has his final meal for whenever the big stroke comes. At least I don't remember him being so adamant about meals when he was younger.
I get downstairs -- it could've been an hour ago -- and he'd be starving. Rubbing against me. Making a lot of meowing racket to get my attention. It's unpleasant. Is this all I'm good for, to feed you? Which I'm happy to do, just calm down.
We put the cat food up on top of the cat box, to keep the dog out of it. But the big cat is getting so he can barely get up there anymore. I've been boosting him, or leaving it down on the floor. Then I try to keep an eye out for the dog, who still might be getting into it. I've noticed, like yesterday, more of the cat food gone than should have been, or that typically is. And the big cat seemed hungry still, which necessitated an executive decision, to open a second can of food, which is virtually unprecedented.