When I was a little girl, about seven or eight, I used to have a cat named Whiskers.
Whiskers favourite place to sleep at night was under the covers curled up besides me. Usually, every night Whiskers would do her "catting" around and later she would jump in the bed with me and dig with her paws in the blankets until I am awake enough to lift the covers for her and allow her to climb under the sheets and settle down to sleep. She did this every night, so I was used to pulling the covers open for her. Eventually, she died as many childhood pets do. I went on with my life, and when I was eighteen, I moved into my first apartment.
One night I was home alone and trying to fall asleep when I felt a pulling at the blankets. It was three in the morning and I was half asleep, and since it used to be a habit, I pulled the covers open. All the sudden I was wide awake. I mean Whiskers had died eleven years before. I suppose that since I was living on my own for the first time, that Whiskers was checking on me, because after that night, it never happened again.