More specifically, the lack thereof.
Melly gets deeply distressed when there is a closed door between her and me. She mewls and squeaks at me through the door, sounding so pitiful that I've just started leaving the doors open a couple of inches for her. This isn't really an issue - and hey, it's nice to be wanted - unless I want privacy in the bathroom. Privacy is a concept the cats don't really grasp, and every morning when I get ready for work, and every evening when I get ready for bed, the two of them come and hang out with me in the bathroom.
The tub is a very popular spot, and Melly frequently sits on the edge of it while I'm showering, watching me through the clear shower curtain and willing me to hurry up so she can slurp the faucet.
And then there's Scarlett, who has recently started a new routine.
"Hi! Would you like to pet me? I'm cute!
Oh. You want to use this thing I'm sitting on?
If you try to remove me, I will lovingly wrap my paws around your arm and hug you affectionately, at which point you will suddenly remember that you haven't trimmed my claws in three months.
"Maybe you should just come back later."