If you volunteered at the museum on weekends, you could stay over, sleeping either in a caboose or in the house with Bob. Working there weekends, down from my grad school apartment in Boulder, I would often stay over in either place. Sleeping in the house in the middle downstairs room, I recall that around midnight or 1 a.m., K. Itty would decide it was time to go out, and go and sit in front of the front door in the front room and stare at the doorknob. You, sound asleep, were supposed to notice her and let her out. If you didn't come, she might deign to let out a single "MROW" to get your attention, then perhaps a second one. If still you didn't come, she would either come into the second room where my bed was, or go into the back room where Bob slept, jump on the bed, and silently walk all over you. Then you would get up and stumble to the door, open it, and let her out.
Returning around 4 or 5 a.m. was a very different performance. You could hear her coming several hundred yards away, emitting a constant, loud, double-barreled "Mur-row-ROW, merrow-ROW, merrow-ROW" for hundreds of yards while approaching the door, which meant "I'm coming, open the door, let me in." You would awaken, stumble to the door, and let her in. Then she would come in either to my bed, or go in to Bob's bed in the back room, jump on the bed, walk up alongside you, curl up in a ball, and go through all the squirmings of having a bath with her tongue.
The next morning, once you got up, you had to be careful not to sit back down in your underwear without inspecting, as she might have left one or more spiky sandburrs combed out of her hair as a little gift from the night before.
