Cat life

I've had the cat for a month and a half now. We have settled into our routines. He gets me up by eight o'clock, demanding food. I get up but there's what to him is a huge delay from the time I twist myself out of bed. I shower and dress first. He eats then drinks from the toilet. I put out fresh water for him regularly but nothing satisfies him more than putting his head in a big ceramic bowl. He agitates the water with his right paw first, then uses that paw to scoop water into his mouth. He does this with surprising skill.

Then it's time for him to urinate, sometimes crap, and then sleep. His choices of sleeping areas are determined by things only he knows. He'll decide on a chair or a place on a carpet and be loyal to it for days, then abandon it for another place. Right now, he likes to sleep where I've folded up an area rug and topped it with a bathmat in front of the toilet to make it easier for him to reach inside. He won't budge from here, and I step around him with care to use the toilet. This is stupid of me, a permanent crutch user in danger of falling in good circumstances. I must toughen up. 
When rested, he'll eat more of the food remaining in his bowl. I'll stir it up and stack it in the center, which freshens it for him. After that he'll sleep somewhere else. At times he'll join me in the living room where I use the computer and read on a large sofa. He'll sleep on a cushion there. In the afternoons and evenings, I'll join him and read. He'll lie near my remaining foot, just out of easy petting reach. His age, twelve, joint stiffness, and year in the shelter left him content with the house as he experienced it his first day here. It took him two weeks to discover that the house has a second floor, which I only go up into two or three times a week, if that. 
He likes to eat dinner around five, a good hour and a half before I do.