It's been like that for years. If I happen to be anywhere in the house at noon he will hunt me down, nudge up to me, turn away and sit, waiting for me to get up and follow him into the kitchen. He will parade up to the fridge then sit, facing it. He will not be denied; SOMETHING that does not come out of a can needs to be under his nose and he wants it NOW. Sometimes it's bacon, sometimes it's shredded smoked ham (he walks away from beef bologna in disgust). He doesn't want enough for a meal, he is just looking for a tasty treat. It's a tradition he created and by golly the both of us mean to honor it until the end of our time together. Honestly, this blind old cat seems to take his infirmities as a challenge. "I ain't dead yet!" Indeed. May providence grant each of us a slice of this cat's fortitude to see us through the balance of our days.
Bon appetit, pal.