Moby hangs out on the balcony as long as possible in the morning. As soon as it's light enough that we figure he won't jump up on the railing - a behavior we've only seen when it's dark - we let him out. As long as we're home, the door is left ajar, until it gets too hot for him, and he decamps to the bedroom.
Under the table is a new place to flop, perhaps because the cords and cables are more contained, and the chi is better. D did a lovely job.