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Charlie Chaplin once said: “He who feeds a hungry animal feeds his own soul.”

Meanwhile, a renowned layabout and supposed editor of a twice-weekly newspaper in Austin Minnesota said this: “He who fails to feed a cat, fails to sleep.”

Anybody with cats will have their own stories of animals who don’t seem to care one bit about their owner’s well-being. So much so in fact that it’s debatable as to who is actually the owner in any cat-owner relationship.

I would tend to agree more with the last part of that statement and not because I was the one that wrote it. With the sudden and vocal proclamation by Buster at 5 a.m. Monday morning that not only let me know he was up, but that he was hungry, I began to admit just how much of our lives are dictated by our two furry menaces.

I say, “admit” because I know full well it’s been the reality for years now ever since we brought Buster into the house and amplified when Nemi chose us.

Heck, even the strays that keep showing up on our front doorstep seem to think we owe them something … probably because we leave a bowl of food out each night.

Cats waking a human up because they are hungry or some other various reason isn’t something new. I’m just going to assume that King Tutankhamun was most likely a victim of cat intrusion and the mighty leader he was, most likely bowed to the whims of the four-legged irritant.

And again, like most people with cats, it is generally agreed that for large swaths of the day, cats are usually not a pain in the … well, they aren’t a pain because they are usually sleeping.

Buster has returned to his angsty teen sensibilities and has returned to spending most of the day upstairs now that the weather is warming up and Nemi will pick any assortment of beds, blankets, couches, etc. that she has deemed to be hers.

Both spend the day sleeping, never appreciating for a moment that the humans are going to the mines each day to raise money to feed their sorry … well, to give them creature comforts.

That’s why it’s particularly irritating when they choose to do what they do in order to get what they want, which in our house usually takes place at supper and any time between going to bed and when they feel we should be up.

A typical morning for them can start anywhere from 3 a.m. to 5 a.m. and it often feels like a plan in determining who has the wake-up duties.

Nemi takes her job very seriously, because she uses it as an opportunity to not only get us up and possibly feed her depending on the time, but also to get attention and she does so in the most obnoxious way possible.

It starts with her padding into the room and jumping on the bed and walking over both of us in order to — and I’m guessing here — make sure we’re both in bed. She’s so thorough as to check her work and walk back over the both of us, ensuring that we are both awake.

Once that’s been determined, she finds her spot next to me for ordered scratching, laying down length ways and revving up her motor. The time this goes on varies depending on how long I can stay awake, but thankfully for her it often goes long because once I’m up and my mind starts working I’m usually up.

Still, Nemi’s time with me is usually pretty short, especially when I start dozing off and I’m not holding up my end of the bargain — a bargain I didn’t ask for, mind you.

She can do this multiple times a night as if she is striving to get her point across.

Buster on the other hand chose a more vocal approach as I’ve already stated. On Monday morning, he ambles into the bedroom and as if Dizzy Gillespie was standing next to the bed, he just hollered. He’s done this often so it doesn’t startle me awake like it does, but it does rake over my nerves.

And it’s not just once. He found it necessary to repeat his point over and over again — in stereovision as he walked from one side of the room to the other, throwing his voice around to let us know it was time to eat.

And he’s persistent. Buster doesn’t finish his breakfast or dinner in one go. We suspect this is because he was an only cat for so long and got used to being able to leave and come back, except Nemi feels it necessary to not let any food potentially go to waste so we have to put his up.

That’s why she’s round.

During the week that’s fine, but on the weekend when a person has a semi hope of sleeping in, it’s terrible as he comes in time and time again for his food to be put down, only to take a bite or two and then wander off for another 20 minutes.

He’s like the alarm clock I never set and keeps going off regardless of whether or not I hit the snooze.

All this taken together is leaving me to suspect where ownership really lies in our household while also suspecting it was never a doubt. They truly are a  pain in the … well, they are difficult animals.