Cats got no respect for weekends. At around 5:30 AM, there is either one on the inside of the bedroom door scratching his way out, or one on the outside scratching his way in. Either way, when I open the door, there are four more right there in the hall.
"Meow?" "Mraaagh?" "Meep?" They all have their different ways of letting me know that they are about four heartbeats away from total starvation, and what am I going to do about it?
A quick survey of the kitchen shows that there is plenty of dry cat food. Of course, five more cats join the chorus, as that point. The only one missing is the poor luckless sap who got himself shut in the garage overnight.
I open and distribute their four cans of Whiskas sliced whatever, dividing each can into two serving dishes. Everycat has a nice little munch, and I go back to bed.
About 8, Jim wakes up, and they go through the same performance again. Sometimes they even convince him that they haven't been fed, and get four more cans.
On weekdays, the process is reversed. It's Jim who gets up at 5:30, and I sleep in till later.
It's obvious that most of their nutrition comes from the bottomless bowl of Kitty Krunchies, but, if they go without their few bites of canned food, they are out of sorts all day.