A map of your flat, marked with somebody else's day
A floor plan of your own home, annotated with the hours he actually keeps — a schedule governed by the sun and nobody else's calendar.

An overhead floor plan of a flat, drawn in thin navy line — bed, sofa, bath, kitchen units all
present, the walls cropped so they run off every edge rather than closing into a box. Six solid
circles sit across it, four navy and two yellow, each labelled with a two-figure hour: 07, 11,
14, 16, 21, 23. The largest one sits in the middle of the living room.
Nobody measured any of this before drawing it. It's a schedule that existed before anyone tried to write it down.
Why does the plan stop at the print's edge instead of showing the whole flat?
Because a floor plan that closes into a box reads as a document, and this is a fragment of one rather than the whole thing.
A full architect's survey would draw every wall meeting every other wall, corners squared off, nothing left hanging. Crop it so the lines run off all four sides instead and it stops looking like paperwork and starts looking like a slice lifted out of a bigger drawing — closer to what the animal actually experiences of the flat, which is never the whole outline at once, only the rooms he happens to be moving through.
Why do the circles change size instead of all being drawn the same?
Because position alone would show where he goes, and size is what shows how long he stays.
A cat or a dog can pass through five rooms in an afternoon and properly rest in one of them, and a plan of dots the same diameter would flatten that difference to nothing. The largest circle sitting over the living-room sofa mid-afternoon is doing the real work here — it's not marking a visit, it's marking a fixed point the whole day bends around.
What decides which hours make it onto the plan?
The turns, not an even scattering across the clock.
Six evenly spaced hours would describe a routine that doesn't actually exist — a flat schedule with no shape to it. The hours worth marking are the ones where the light or the temperature or the household's own rhythm visibly moves him: the early spot that catches the first sun, wherever he lands once the radiator's been on a while, the window he holds until someone's home. Those turning points carry the whole pattern; the hours between them mostly don't need marking at all.
Does making this need anyone's permission?
Not if the plan is your own observation of your own rooms.
The exception is a professional floor plan — the kind an estate agent or architect draws for a listing. That drawing belongs to whoever made it, licensable the way any commissioned drawing is, and tracing it isn't the same as drawing what you've actually watched happen in the flat. Redrawn from your own memory of where things sit, there's nothing here that needs asking.
Does this work for a home with more than one animal in it?
Yes, and it can carry more than one day on the same plan rather than doubling into two separate prints.
A household with two or more animals can use colour to separate them on one plan instead of drawing two. That's a different problem again from two animals whose schedules exist specifically to avoid each other — there, the map is really about the gap between the circles, not the circles themselves.
Won't this look like nothing to somebody who's never set foot in the flat?
Mostly, and that's not a flaw in the design.
This is about as far from a close portrait of the animal itself as a print can get — nobody needs to see him to read it, and nobody outside the household needs to. It's a private record disguised as an architectural diagram, and the fact that it means almost nothing to a stranger is what makes it mean something specific to the person who lives there.
Does it print well?
Thin line work like this survives fine as long as the two colours stay flat and separate.
Navy line at this weight holds up on fabric where a thinner one would break up at the weave, and the yellow circles need a hard, clean edge against the navy rather than a soft one — a blurred boundary between the two reads as a smudge instead of a room. Pale blue, bone or a soft warm grey all suit a floor-plan print. Two inks: the navy line and the amber-yellow fill.
How do I get one made?
Describe the flat at JustOG — which rooms matter, the hours, and which colour for which animal if there's more than one. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.
Designs other people have published are in the shop.
It's 21:00 somewhere on that plan right now, and he's exactly where the largest circle says he is.