Like when it’s time to feed that cats. The cat food can, a big, metal “Charles Chips” canister that’s probably 30 years old, sits on the kitchen counter where I don’t have to stoop to scoop out cat food. The bowls, however, are on the floor. By this time, the cats are meowing insistantly, pacing, head-butting me in the shins. Instead of bending over to fill them, I hold the cup of food about four feet over the bowls. As the first few kibbles hit the bottom of the ceramic food bowl, most of them bounce out onto the placement and skitter across the kitchen floor. A few, however, stay in the bowl. The cats pounce on these and begin chowing down. The remainder of the kibble I’m still pouring out bounces off the backs of their heads. They look up at me and stop eating which gives me a chance to fill the rest of their bowls. It doesn’t really matter if the food is in the bowls or not, they don’t seem to have trouble finding it all and eating it.