Any time one of the humans enters the bathroom, the cat lies down beside Dad's shoes and proffers a belly for rubbing. But whenever we've been out, TC greets us at the door, then sprints for the bathroom, where he flings himself down by Dad's shoes, and proceeds to bite, chew, kick, and try to stick his entire head into one or both shoes, while the human energetically skritches his back and rubs his belly, crooning, "Shoooz! Yes! Dad's shoes! Dad's shoes will save me! Get the shoes! Dad's shoes, Dad's shoes!"

No shoes will do, you see, but H's. Mine are a pale reflection which will suffice in the absence of Dad's, but apparently they're not nearly as redolent and odiferous as his, thus not as powerful an attractant.

Yes, we are loons. Why do you ask?