In the daytime, they're more creative in their choice. Sophia particularly likes snoozing on the printer while I type:
Cleo is even more adventurous. During the summer she likes to nap outside perched precariously on the air-conditioner units. Yesterday, it being rather chilly to be outside, she tried the top of the inside part of Tim's air-conditioner:
Evidently they're from the same breed as Eleanor Farjeon's cats a hundred years ago. Except, of course, that humans had, selfishly, not yet produced either printers or air-conditioners for them to sleep on. But they did their best, as in this poem which we used to enjoy very much in a delightful picture book when the boys were small (when I read it, I always substituted 'socks' for 'frocks'):
Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody's lap will do.
Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
Anywhere! They don't care! Cats sleep anywhere.(Eleanor Farjeon, 1881-1965)